Shards
by AiZhen
Summary: When war becomes more than just an instrument of destruction, when incidents begin to delve deeper into concealed pasts...rises the need to meet them head-on...(Based on the Crimson Twilight Trilogy)
1. Notes From AiZhen

Dear imagination, what I especially love about you is that you do not forgive.

-André Breton

This is practically my FIRST fanfiction here, and I'm all nervy about it. This oneis meant to clear up some mulch… (And I wish it does)

-This fic is an Alternate Universe of the Crimson Twilight series. This story is based from it. Better read the fic to clear out any confusing whatnots in here. I'm a devout follower of that one. Highly recommended!

-First and foremost: I wrote 'Shards' primarily for fun. I got bored too many times and RO whirled in my head too many times too, and with my trusty ballpen and paper with me...

-Another fun part for me here is that some of the characters are based from real people – and sometimes real RO characters. The thing is, pRO doesn't have the Advanced 2nd Jobs yet, so…

-Suggestions are more than welcome. I get writer's block ALL THE TIME.

-I certainly won't mind comments and opinions. If I suck, go tell me. If I don't, go tell me too. I swear its fine.

-I update BAD. Very BAD. It might take days, weeks, or months (if I don't update for a year, then presumably it's either I've given the story up or I'm already dead) before I post. I'm incredibly busy at times – and lazy too. You've been warned.

-This story is especially dedicated to my good pal Angelica, who is always my constant and trustworthy friend, and at all times there to proofread my stories. Dude, I'm so sorry if I don't get to finish my works most of the time!

-Of course, this is also for my friends in our class, like Eloisa, Ryan, Barbs, etc… (brandishes _Alagad ni Juan Matias II _badge)

And I hope that get some of the things done now…anyway, roll it…

>> AiZhen


	2. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ragnarok Online. I do not own Crimson Twilight. Score that to Tom Valor, and I recommend that fic to any RO lover._

Prologue

The bells of the tower tolled as the clock struck an hour. The deep, rumbling sounds echoed ominously inside the archaic edifice of Alchemy, mingling with the hoarse humming of the antediluvian machinery. "You're not convincing the girl? How new is that?"

Firdauze Sarazen's amethyst eyes twinkled mysteriously in the dimness of the Clock Tower. They always conveyed some sort of deep enigma, interspersing with the entrenched detestation glimmering at the depths of her eyes. "Now, Darkhaven, you don't think I'm only about 'suicidal plans' do you?" She smiled softly at the young woman before her. "I do have a heart."

Khallian Darkhaven gave a cynical snort and folded her arms. Her vividly crimson eyes seemed to sparkle in their own sardonic light, glinting eerily against the shadows. "This is the first time, Sarazen. I'm extremely sorry for the reaction, but it sounded too unbelievable."

The purple-haired sage merely looked at the red-haired wizard indignantly. She sighed deeply as she spoke. "It doesn't mean that because the only time I check on her is when I want to convince her about my plans, I'm a callous person."

"Just like what I've said, it sounds so strange for Firdauze Sarazen, it's unbelievable."

Nothing was said for a while. The ancient cogs and gearwheels revolved slowly in a rasping chorus, the sound reverberating unnervingly inside the stately edifice. Khallian surveyed the sage intently, scrutinizing her carefully for any trace of staging a charade, but found strangely nothing. 'Why a sudden bout of sisterly kindness?'

"Just for once, Darkhaven, remove that expression of scrutiny from me," Firdauze said wearily, pacing back and forth the walkway. "I just want to know if she's doing well, that's all! You think it's very unlikely for me, but tell me, isn't your dear Rived just like that?"

Khallian scoffed at the last part of the statement and eyed the sage darkly. "At least my brother regularly sends the signals unlike you, who checks on her distant relative only when catching the sickness of thoughtfulness." Firdauze stopped pacing about and glared at her intensely. She doesn't know if she should consider the statement as a mere comment or a deliberate insult. The wizard's expression was unyielding under such gaze. "Just don't compare yourself with him."

Firdauze bit her lip and closed her eyes to soothe herself from retaliating. Maybe talking with Khallian was not a good idea after all. The conversation is steering towards an argument, and it is something she doesn't want to happen. Khallian Darkhaven is deceptively frail and delicate. "Fine, high wizard. I should've known that your…loyalty outweighs the concerns of someone closer to your friend."

The high wizard simply smirked at the purple-haired woman. She knows better. Much, much better. "Closer to my friend? Concerns? I doubt that relationship."

"Vailtren! You're such a _liability_!"

Eliria looked over shoulder to see her wizard friend jogging, visibly tired, a few steps behind her. "Couldn't you be any faster? We're late, for goodness' sakes!"

"I'm a wizard, Eliria, not a hunter, thief or some other darn nippy person!" the wizard said raggedly, his breathing uneven. "My lungs are about to burst!"

"I'm the one who should complain, you spell blower! Why did you forget where'd you put your rod, of all possible times! We spent half-hour searching for that damn stick!" The sage knew that their friends might've gone inside the tower – waiting for them for thirty minutes in such swelteringly hot day is certainly out of their patience, especially Sennos'. Her legs are beginning to numb, and she had bumped into at least ten persons and did not even bothered to say an apology. "There's Clock Tower now! And quit whining about your numb feet, will you?"

The commanding structure loomed ahead of them, its familiar tolling ringing in their ears. The clock had struck an hour. 'An hour?' Eliria thought in confusion. Her eyes widened in realization. So…it means that they have searched the cursed arc wand for nearly an _hour_? "Vailtren, Elfean and the others would surely skin us!" she cried out in annoyance, looking over her shoulder to the diffident Vailtren. "They're surely inside now, and knowing how large the tower is, it's like spotting a single cogwheel inside a mass of mechanisms! Next time, will you improve your-"

Vailtren gasped as his sage friend collided into a wizard. Or at least to whom he supposed to be a wizard.

"Sorry, I mustn't been looking," the wizard said quickly, grinning apologetically.

Eliria stared at the person before her. She had shoulder length crimson hair that gave the impression her head is bleeding cascades of blood. Vivid bloody eyes stood out from her pale skin, and although they had a kind expression at the moment, they are enthralling and disturbing at the same time.

"Ah no…it's my fault." Eliria said hastily, shaking her head. "Sorry for the trouble…"

"No harm done, so it's fine," the wizard replied amiably. "I suppose you're here for the Clock Tower?"

Eliria abruptly recalled their friends – and their annoyed expressions at their tardiness. Looking behind the red-haired wizard, she noticed a small crowd of people by the entrance. Who the hell cares on what's the ruckus at the moment, the sage thought hastily, seizing her companion's arm and quickly dragging him towards the mobbed entrance. "Sorry again, but we're really in a hurry," she said, grinning sheepishly at the red-haired wizard, pushing Vailtren at the backs of the people.

"Wait for a second!" she called out concernedly. "Be careful, there's-!"

But the pair had wedged their way through the throng, and she found herself staring to the backs of the whispering mob. She thought of following them, but she shook her head. 'They won't let them inside, anyway.'

The knight silently counted the crystal clear bottles lined neatly along the counter. One…two…three…four. Four empty bottles, standing in a straight line, labels all facing the same direction – towards the door. It reminds her of knights facing to salute their commander. Of Prontera. Of the Army.

"Nice record." The young hunter behind the counter remarked lightly. From the moment the warrior stepped inside the spacious bar and until the existent time, he was the first and only person to ever address her. She did not seem to take it very warmly though. The only response hunter got was a jaded glare from her dark brown eyes.

"Easy, lady knight," the hunter said with a slight smile. Everyone inside the bar was apparently anxious of her. Worried eyes darted from her impassive fair face to her formidable armor, giving the final probing look at theclaymore by her side before turning their gaze away in fear of being caught. Simply judging from appearance alone, she looks capable of demolishing the whole establishment apart. Yet this slim and relaxed hunter never has a trace of fear dealing with her. He was talking at her as though they're acquaintances. "It was just out of amusement."

"Do I look amusing, hunter?" her voice was low and barely audible. It was mainly flat and uninterested, yet has a violent edge in it. Dark brown eyes looked intently at the hunter's unperturbed amber ones. Even her men get to cower at such scrutiny.

The hunter rested his arms on the shiny wooden counter, never shrinking against the knight's piercing russet gaze and instead looking blankly back. "Not your appearance, but the alcoholic tendency is." He looked amused and bored at the same time, his amber eyes sparkling like the Alberta champagne shelved tidily behind him. "Four bottles of Aldebaran whiskey in sixty minutes - our second runner up, I suppose. The current record is six bottles straight in half an hour, proudly held by a good blacksmith patron."

She did not answer back but merely took her eyes away from him. Unlike the other ones who promptly groveled at the slightest turn of her head, this hunter here isn't clearly one of them. He matches her cold, stony glares with mildly amused yet polite ones.

'He's quite special, I suppose,' she thought furtively.

People usually don't know the difference between her glare and a simple stare, yet he seems to know that she isn't truly angry. At least not yet.

The lenient hunter was about to continue his little talk when the bar's door unexpectedly opened with a sharp scrape. Everyone turned when a slightly annoyed female voice spoke.

"You have no idea how many bars I actually entered just to search for you, Iriathrina!"

The knight actually looked submissive for a moment before she replied. "This was the first bar I saw."

A red-haired young woman with equally vivid bloody eyes rolled her eyes as she approached the armored warrior. "Whatever, my lady knight. By the way, like I've said, Rived is staying. He just went home after wandering in the tower with me for a while. He'll return to Juno fairly soon though, and-"

"Let's go." Iriathrina slid from her seat and icily walked past her companion. The latter rolled her eyes again in a resigned manner and shrugging before following the knight out of the bar, muttering distinctively, "I don't really get why you accepted going here, when you're only going to get drunk with Aldebaran wine…"

"Some customer eh, Raille?" a patron said as the door snapped close. "I suppose that lady knight was quite a terror." The rest of the customers nodded their assent. "Mind you, she looks really brutal."

Raille smiled at the comment before sweeping the empty Aldebaran whiskey bottles off the counter. "Not really." She's probably just lonely.

A wickedly sharp dagger gleamed in the midnight moonlight before it darted through the still air. There was a sudden gasp as the blade went through the flimsy clothing and pierced a chest. Blood spurted out before a body promptly dropped to the floor, lifeless.

"Out of disgust, dear?"

A slim form emerged from the shadows, barely clothed in the cool night air, yet still maintaining an alluring grace. Soft viridian eyes showed a kind of dignified charm, the waist-length powder blue hair falling freely down her back accentuating her natural elegance.

"You could say that, yes."

The assassin gave the faintest trace of a smile behind her mask, standing insensitively over her hapless victim. The elderly sage's face still bore the distressed expression of someone meeting their most unexpected nightmare.

"Mind you, I could still remember the last thing he said," she said nonchalantly, her deep violet eyes surveying the dagger protruding from her prey with a trace of satisfaction. "It was like…you _ingrate_ or something resembling that."

"I don't blame them," the blue-haired dancer responded, looking at the assassin. "But you're not exactly an ingrate, are you, Eliaris?"

Eliaris pulled down the mask covering her mouth, the skin tingling in the caress of the cool night breeze. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied in a simple ponytail, drifting gracefully with the wind. Like the dancer, she carries a certain air of charm and elegance, but it was seemingly concealed behind an ominous aura of an unpredictable assassin.

"Geffen already has too many magic users, sister dear," she answered coolly, gazing at the resplendent structures of the famed city of magic. "It won't hurt to take one, would it?"

"Even though the victim would be a kin?" the dancer slowly asked. Her sister could be so whimsical at times; her volatile moods are as predictable as the weather. A midnight visit isn't precisely very prudent for both of them – with Geffen's situation nowadays there are a lot of people who are still out in the streets or nevertheless awake.

The assassin unceremoniously stepped over the limp body of her 'uncle', never sparing even a mournful look. "Considerations might come into my mind." Eliaris casually emerged from the shadowy alley, giving a quick glance at the empty streets. "It is just that he would merrily prance to our dear father to report the big news that the prodigal daughter is back in Geffen, and would be a nice opportunity to shut her inside the house for eternity." Her intense amethyst eyes met the dancer's gentle viridian ones. "Our Uncle is just at the wrong place at the wrong time, Eloiris. Who wants to get imprisoned in that hellhole and live with an old buffoon obsessed with repute?"

Eloiris followed her sister into the moonlit street, feeling the wind embracing her mildly tanned and flawless skin. Looking at her sister, it feels like looking into a mirror. Both are very much alike – from height to the contours of the face down to the skin color. Only their hair and eyes physically distinguish them from each other, but she knows that they are as different as fire and water when it concerns disposition.

"Fine, so Geffen is currently a drag for both of us." The dancer said, leaning at a lamppost and folding her arms. "But then…things are making a bit of a change."

"And I bet Dad doesn't want to get involved." Eliaris replied with a trace of derision. "I think I heard those insurgency talks earlier…like, in every corner…"

"And you know what that means don't you?" Eloiris said perceptively. "A city in insurgency beckons an army in fury."

Eliaris smirked at Eloiris' words. After all, she's not the only 'prodigal daughter' in the family.

"I think we should schedule a reunion then…"

Vailtren didn't know what to do when he saw them. It was totally unexpected. Never in his imagination or ill-wishes would he ever dare. But looking at the bloodied and mangled bodies, mutilated and torn to the point of indescribable, the wizard knew that it was his worst nightmare.

"A couple found them in one of the more secluded spots," a guard informed them offhandedly. "Flocked with alarms and skeletons…they said they were about…fifteen of them? I don't trust the number much though – it's enough to kill, but too much for a weirdly dressed wizard and a dark armored knight to dispose of without any other people."

Eliria quickly broke down on his shoulder as soon as she recognized the unrecognizable. He had never seen her cry in such an upset manner. He himself could feel the sorrow welling in his chest, but it was more of fear gripping him. For years, the Clock Tower had taken lives, but his friends'…Vailtren closed his eyes as he gazed their gashed faces, still manifesting the extreme terror they faced. His knees are almost giving in.

"W-where's the knight and the wizard?" he shakily asked at the guard, who was looking at the bodies sympathetically. At least they took the pains for taking their friends' remains back, no matter how unbelievable it may seem. Vailtren doesn't care for the moment how could a wizard and a knight dispatch a horde of alarms single-handedly.

"Before we know it, they're gone, like they've quietly evaporated or something," The guard answered perplexedly, scratching his scraggly head. "The wizard's quite a looker and the knight's looks pretty formidable, so they're hard to miss. Both of them had red hair and red eyes…it looks really distinctive…"

An image of an unusually dressed female wizard with scarlet hair and blood-red eyes and apologizing at them cordially raced in his memory. He glanced back at the murmuring and pitying crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again, but not a strand of her plain red hair was apparent. The bright scarlet eyes were not among the condolatory ones staring and ogling at them.

"We missed her…" he muttered under his breath, barely audible through Eliria's devastated sobs. "That wizard…"

Rived Darkhaven watched as the crowd slowly dispersed and the Aldebaran guards carried the bodies off on stretchers. A sage and a wizard followed them, the former weeping her heart out while the latter tried to soothe her. His deep red eyes looked away from the couple as a veiled memory raced past his mind. Now is not the time to reminisce.

He was supposed to go alone, just like what he wants, but his sister Khallian demanded to go with him. He doesn't mind, anyway – his demeanor doesn't change whether he has a companion or not. She was only there to meet Firdauze Sarazen, and did nothing more than a slight delay. The conversation was 'private' and the lord knight wasn't interested to nose around, so what he did was to maintain some distance and devoted his time in hacking alarms and clocks apart. Besides, that was the reason he was there. The Clock Tower was only a pastime.

Rived could tell that the meeting didn't went very well for his sister. She emerged from the shadows looking slightly miffed, her usually relaxed crimson eyes in a frown. She abruptly suggested blasting alarms and skeletons to smithereens to palliate her irritation. He did not made any move to calm her himself – pacifying her could only make matters worse and it wasn't his forte anyway. He let the high wizard blast everything and anything moving in sight and soon they were surrounded with burning debris of alarms, frozen bones and deep-fried clocks. It had no effect for Rived other than lessen the beings for him to dice apart, which is quite disappointing for him, but as an 'understanding' brother he let it pass.

The 'magic spree' continued to rage on, walking at random paths and squeezing themselves between gigantic cogwheels and mechanisms that threatened to crush them when they moved. It seemed like his younger sister's temper would last until their return to the outside world, but when he heard a sharp gasp from her, he knew that something took her mind off the irritation. It transpired that a horde of alarms massacred a party of three – a grisly picture that effectively scared the annoyance off her and brought back her senses. She immediately nagged him to bring the bodies out, since it would be a little too unsightly and she was absolutely touched. Rived did not find the energy to argue with her, and in the end he was doing a miraculous corporal work of mercy. It didn't bother him much, but it did stain his dark armor with blood. It looked like he was the one who killed them…

'Be a Darkhaven for once…'

The lord knight smirked as he recalled her words. He may be 'not' one of them, but he knows them very well. Mercy isn't exactly a virtue of a Darkhaven.

The people began to pour inside again, disregarding the grim warning that Clock Tower's next victim could be them.

_To Tom Valor: Thanks a million! The revamped versions of the story were…on the other computer sighs and not on the one I'm using to type this. I'll get it again though. You're the best._

_Okay, so what I said to be a revamp for chapter 1 became a revamp for the whole thing. I now had a quite solid plot in mind with a huge lineup of characters – and my problem is that they're just TOO many! Even my best pal proofreader Angelica is saying so. Argh. I hope this is at least better than the earlier prologue! It's a bit more confusing with the characters, I know, but they're quite vital in the story! I just couldn't think of other characters to squish in the prologue. And I'm VERY sorry for the update! I know it's been a long time, but I AM busy. I could also retype this for grammar reasons…_


	3. Sister

_Disclaimer: Refer to the prologue_

Chapter 1: Sister

The bells of the Prontera church tolled solemnly as an armored figure stepped out into the bright streets of the capital.

'It seems that it's going to be a fine day.'

Angela Saxellian doesn't know how long she had been inside the church. As far as remembers, the morning light wasn't as dazzling as this when she entered. She could've been inside for hours, but since she is in a weeklong holiday, it doesn't matter if she's even in there for the whole day. Her sky blue eyes squinted in the intense sunlight for a moment, the wavy sea green hair down to her waist drifting elegantly in the wind like the waves of the sea. Mildly tanned skin and a slim but robust body had Angela, although it was often covered in her formidable full plate armor. A flamberge and zweihander hung by her side while a mysterious, wrapped spear was strapped to her back. People usually shot a look of trepidation at her ensemble of weapons, but for the Pronterans, it had somehow turned into security.

The capital was bustling and alive with the urban soul. The silence in the church sharply contrasted with the din of the city streets. Merchants shouted the bargain prices of their wares. Blacksmiths professionally talked with potential clients, displaying samples of their works. The alchemists sweet-talked customers into buying extra potions. Knights and swordsmen patrolled the streets alertly, their eyes darting from corner to corner. Those who recognized her gave salutes and seemed to work with an extra effort.

'Oh come on, I'm not on duty today.'

The knight casually walked about in the crowded streets, watching as Prontera live its life. The world capital is a gorgeous showcase of architecture and order, the very representation of Rune-Midgard. Stately edifices rose in every corner, imposing and elegant. The fearsome knights of the army capably guarded its citizens and subdued its threats. Angela mused that if she is ever in duty today, it would be her division's turn in making their rounds. She doesn't complain though – it was fine with her, although the reputation of the army itself seems to scare potential street criminals.

"Angela!"

Angela snapped out from her thoughts. Was someone calling her? With the crowd this thick and with a name like 'Angela', it could be bound to have someone with a similar name.

"Second Knight Commander Saxellian!"

Knowing fully well who are the commanders in the army, Angela was certain that someone is indeed calling her. But with the noise of Prontera all around her, she found it quite hard to pinpoint the source. She didn't have to exert an effort though – a split-second later a pair of delicate arms wrapped themselves enthusiastically around her waist.

"What on…?" the knight muttered in surprise, but she knew straightaway on who did that. "Elrodein, don't you ever get tired hugging my waist as a homecoming ritual?"

The acolyte grinned as she slipped her arms away. Elrodein Brellvien had shoulder-length straight sky blue hair and kind sea green eyes. "Of course, it's the most welcoming gesture for my older sister, so I don't phase it out." She beamed. "You like it, don't you?"

Angela ran a gauntleted hand through her wavy hair as she beamed back at the young acolyte. "Of course I do. Nothing beats a good sister, isn't it?" She fondly ruffled Elrodein's hair, although inside she is aware that hair-ruffling is Franzes' thing. "I'm on holiday, fancy a walk outside in the fields?"

The blue-haired acolyte nodded. "I have loads to tell you!"

"Geffen malt, please."

The bartender gave a small nod as he fetched a green long-necked bottle from the shelves behind him. Trevis Yuehn didn't bother to count on how many times he ordered the Geffen malt. It wasn't strong anyway, and he had developed a considerable tolerance to it.

"You intend in draining our supply of Geffen malt?" the bartender asked, slamming the bottle in the counter with more force than intended. "That's your third."

Trevis did not answer. He simply took the bottle and poured his glass with the liquor. The wizard may have a strong preference for the malt, but he isn't the kind capable of draining a glass in one glug. 'Maybe I should've tried Payon spirits instead,' he thought seriously. Geffen malt simply couldn't knock him out even with four bottles. Maybe one Payon spirits could send him to the much-needed oblivion. 'Darn it, I want to quit thinking about Geffen.' He mentally remarked to himself. He needs to shove the worry off his head, but it seems that worry has attached itself stubbornly in his mind. Now he has a reason to genuinely regret being a wizard.

_You're a promising spell caster, Trevis! I just couldn't see you get wasted in this mad insurrection!_

The young spell caster buried his face in his hands. He wants to go back – he couldn't bear not seeing his family, but at the same time he knows that going back means risking not only his neck, but at the very reason his father had sent him to the capital.

'Father, I can't…I can't just stay here in Prontera!'

Elrodein stretched her arms eagerly in the warm Pronteran sun. "Ah! Home is absolutely better!" she declared spiritedly. "Payon was way too cold for me." She dropped her arms back to her sides as she looked up at the knight. "So you're on a holiday, eh? What's the reason?"

"Like what I've told you for the fourth time." The knight said as she leaned on the nearest tree, watching as several novices ganged on a pupa. "The Grand Knight Commander says I'm in the need of it."

The acolyte looked at Angela dubiously. "The real reason, sister."

Angela looked at the acolyte with a strangely blank expression, but inside she was remarking how inquisitive Elrodein could be. "That's it! The Grand Knight Commander granted me the week himself."

"Knowing you Jelan, you would promptly decline a day-off as soon it is served to you," the acolyte said, sitting by the tree's roots near the knight's armored feet. "So why accept a whole week of it?"

'I couldn't just say it's because of that…' Angela thought. But she already has a good reason to hide the real reason. "That's it, yet again. I've always declined my day-offs, and so I got fatigued for a bit. The Grand Knight Commander got quite worried though, so he ordered me to a week-long holiday or he'll personally have me kicked out of the army."

"Oh…right."

Angela reached yet again for the acolyte's blue head and tousled it furiously. "I know the sarcasm behind the word 'right', you holy terror. I'd have you for that."

Elrodein gently shoved the knight's hand from her head. "My hair already looks as though a couple of hurricanes had gone through it," She said pouted, combing her hair with her hands. "Fine, so I believe that one now, although according to my beliefs you'd only have a day-off if you lost an arm or a leg."

Angela smirked at the comment. "How did Payon go, anyway?" she asked curiously. Elrodein had been to Payon with her friends for adventure, although the knight strongly cautioned her to leave whenever something unusual arises. Nowadays, Prontera is the only place that seems to be safe.

"Well…" the acolyte began tentatively. A lone cloud drifted across the sky, momentarily blocking the sun's dazzling light. "It was quite fine, yes, but…there's something strange about the Payonese people."

Angela had been expecting these. It could be the strange displays of hospitality. "Like…?"

"I'm not quite sure if I'm the only one who noticed, but some Payonese people were practically glaring at us when we passed through the town on our way to the cave." The acolyte related, frowning as she reminisced. "But it was really at our swordsman companion they were really giving the worst stares. It seems that at one point an archer was about to shoot him from a window, but I think I was the only one who saw that one."

'That's it,' the knight mentally remarked. 'Hatred for swordsmen means worse hatred for knights. And hatred of knights means hatred for the army…'

"The Payonese seemed to be…a little cold lately," Elrodein commented, leaning her head back on the sturdy tree. "I mean, colder than usual. It's like they'd rather fall dead than give our swordsman red potions."

TheMoroccans are not the only ones who's rough with the Pronteran authority, the knight thought as the acolyte rambled on and on about the hunters who were muttering something to their birds as they passed. 'They're better in hiding it though. The Payonese are proud of their independent pasts and sashay it about. They even made the most revolts in the kingdom…' Angela couldn't think of any reason to mention it to Elrodein. 'It won't make any difference anyway…unless the Payonese have stooped low as to attack innocent youngsters!' Payon is a proud city of honor and principles – finishing underage acolytes seem to be very ignominious.

"…By the time we reached the cave, the locals were, like, wishing we won't emerge from the cave alive." Elrodein stated sourly, scowling as she recalled the citizen's stony faces. "We just ignored them, you know-" She gave a sideward glance at her older sister and her scowl deepened. "Jelan, are you listening to me?" she virtually cried out in a fallaciously sweet voice. Angela is amiable and friendly, but she could be an introvert sometimes, drifting suddenly into deep reflections.

"Uh…yeah," The green-haired knight said perfunctorily, coming back to reality. "Did theghouls bit you?"

"Oh yes, they did," Elrodein said through gritted teeth. "They even barfed at us, really, and ghouls started to appear and whacked the life out of us-" She just hated it when she's having a 'moment' and nobody was listening, especially if it's Angela.

"Fine, so I'm sorry for being so absent-minded," Angela said apologetically. 'Darn it, I'm in a holiday. Why think about these things now?' She shook her head in an effort to stifle the thoughts away. Although it wasn't the real reason why she's in a day-off, it sort of contributed to the real reason. 'Here goes the headache if I don't stop.'

"What happened next?" she said in an attempt to pacify the disgruntled acolyte.

The blue-haired acolyte glared at her first before continuing on in a lackadaisical manner. "Well…it was fine…at first."

Angela blinked. "At first?"

"Yes, at first." Elrodein repeated with tense emphasis. The green-haired knight patiently listened, as a model sister would, as the acolyte fulminate a discourse of how she hated the trip. From what Angela heard and pieced together in the ridiculously long diatribe, their party entered the cave and started to blast the reanimated life out of the zombies. Then something happened – something that Angela couldn't clearly understand in all her intellect – that sounded like the swordsman fainted because of the undead vomitus on his attire (Angela contemplated that even the most lily-livered of her knights could at least endure such things). Then a thief snuck upon Elrodein and attempted to steal her zeny, but she blasted him to the zombies with a 'Magnus Exorcismus worth of Holy Light'. The mage with them tried to convince her to stay, which she 'graciously' did. From that point on Angela couldn't grasp the events anymore. It has something to do with pet sohees being mistaken for a real monster and being reprimanded by its novice master, good-looking bonguns attracting their female mage companion, marina spheres appearing out of the thin air and detonating unexpectedly in the swordsman's face, the thief being ran over by smokies, and the knight could swear she heard 'I vow by the name of the Spear of Longinus that I would kill them the second time I'm around them.'

'Goodness, is this an acolyte I'm talking with?' she thought incredulously, grasping the spear behind her. 'Sounds more like some intense world-hater to me…sounds like…like…' Her grip loosened as her shoulder slacked with the recollection. 'Of course, you emotional fool, it would really sound like her!' Reminiscing is something she wouldn't like to have as a hobby.

"…Could you believe all of that happened to me?" Elrodein finished with heated sarcasm. All her annoyance was summed up in the brief statement. She was literally uprooting the grass around her as an expression of hatred. Angela seriously pitied it though. "That was appalling! Horrendous! Abhorrent! I could swear-"

"-by the name of the Longinus spear that you'll bury them alive in the Prontera cemetery, resurrect them, and feed them to the ghouls and skeletons of Glastheim, resurrect them for one last time and throw them to the Magma cave to get roasted for good."

"Exactly, sister! The same words!" Elrodein exclaimed with a positive clap. The knight chuckled in amusement. The acolyte looked at her older sister, slowly frowning with the realization dawning upon her. "Wait a jiffy…_how did you know?_" Since when did hindsight become a skill of knights?

Angela's laugh gradually lessened to a tickled grin. "Suppose I know someone who acts and looks like you and say the same kind of things." She explained austerely, still sporting her entertained smile. "Mind you, she was very amusing…and rough too. She's so like you – she gets ditched by her swordsman partners every three days and gets into a brawl every two days." Her smile widened and eventually turned to a laugh. "And I remember her cursing the same words at one point…"

"And who'll that be? My twin?" The blue-haired acolyte asked testily. The 'allusion' is quite sharp.

"You could say that, yes."

Elrodein groaned sulkily. "Not fair! You always know about me, but I don't know about your friends!" Indeed, she had only seen one friend of the green-haired knight: a 'blacksmith' with long brown hair in a ponytail and eccentric-colored eyes. But she is quite sure that Angela has other friends other than the blacksmith – she has heard of a huntress, an alchemist and the high priest of the First Priest Division, although for her it is more plausible that the knight has the saints inside the Prontera Church as friends due to the ludicrous amount of time she spends inside.

"When did I say that person was my friend?" Angela liked toying with Elrodein through words. It was like bringing the old times back.

"And so who is that person? Your boyfriend?"

"Are you saying that the saints of Prontera church sprang to life to be my boyfriends?"

"A fellow knight?"

"Nope. None of them has blue hair, sorry."

Elrodein hated guessing, especially when it is Angela who wants her to guess. It could go on for the whole day, and the answer could actually be as plain as the grass.

"I hate this! It's your best friend! Your mother! Your daddy! Your sister-!"

Angela froze by the mention of 'sister'. She felt her usually buoyant spirits immediately fall down to the depths, her gentle sky-blue eyes twinkling with a mournful sort of glimmer. Sister…? Providentially Elrodein was too busy stating an endless litany of possible people who could be the mystery 'person' who is similar to her to notice.

The acolyte began to falter for words. She had mentioned almost everyone close enough to be like her – not only in looks, but also in deeds. And she assumes that to know someone, you must be pretty close to him or her. If it isn't a family, friend or acquaintance, then…

"Fine! I get it!" she declared triumphantly, effectively snapping the melancholy out of Angela. "You just made that one up, isn't it? You're tricking me again!" Elrodein felt quite sure of it. It isn't her friend, best friend, mother, sister, father, brother; one of her knights, fellow commander, one of the prisoners, one of the priests, another acolyte or a Pecopeco with blue feathers and sporting custom-made green contact lenses, then that person is all but smoke. "That one's nonexistent, isn't it?"

"Non…existent?" Angela muttered faintly, her eyes mildly downcast. "…It could be." Of course, she has been nonexistent in her life since a long time ago. How many years have passed since she had last seen her smile, her grimace, her scowls and her harangues? The knight could barely remember them now, but somehow, she could always see it.

"Sister, won't you ever give me a decent answer for a change?" The acolyte whimpered resentfully.

Angela reflexively placed a hand on her temple. The pain was starting to flood back to her head, throbbing furiously and clouding her mood. It wasn't the casual migraines that plague other people every other day. Angela knows that this one is a potential disaster. 'Oh good one, Jelan. You're supposed to be on a holiday and put these things at the back of your head, but it seems that you'll have to lose your head first before you learn it,' she berated herself. Pain mixed with unhappiness is always a dangerous combination.

'_Misery, misery...isn't it good to reminisce once in a while?_'

'For the love of God, shut up! Not now! Go back to wherever hell you came from!' Angela almost said aloud in frustration, rubbing her temple frantically. 'I've got no time for you!' Her hand involuntarily twitched and the next thing the knight knew it was already clasped at the wrapped spear strapped on her back. She tried unclasping it from the weapon, but it simply didn't obey her, as though it had its own mind. 'Oh please, this is bull dust!' The aching was reaching critical levels. This holiday is supposed to keep this thing off me, she thought irately. She gritted her teeth as she attempted to dismiss the bloody scenes flashing in her mind. 'Really, my misery, you'd have to try harder if you want me doing that kind of trash!'

"Uh…J-Jelan?" The voice seemed to be miles away inside a deep, yawning cave. It seemed familiar, and strangely enlightening, for the knight.

The knight blinked. In an instant the headache vanished, and her hand automatically unfastened itself from the cloth covering the spear. 'Zach…' She breathed deeply, trying to clear her mind of everything. 'I won't allow you. Never.' Not another victim. Certainly not me. Not her. Not anybody else.

"What?" Angela answered back in the most cheerful voice she could ever muster, looking at her younger sister with her bright sky-blue eyes. The acolyte looked fearful for a moment, and then peculiarly ogled at the knight's eyes intently, as though comprehending their color from the sky. "Ah…is there something wrong, Dein?"

For a moment, Elrodein could swear that something was definitely wrong. That the knight besides her wasn't Jelan, but another one. Someone more sinister. The sky blue eyes changed into frigid, dark blue ones, losing the calming glimmer in them and becoming more like fathomless orbs of malevolence. The way her face was staring blankly into the vast fields of Prontera was like of a possessed person, and Elrodein genuinely felt fear when she noticed that a shaking hand clasped around the mysterious spear by her back. It was like she wouldn't hesitate to swing it about…to impale anyone with it…to kill her with it…

"Hey," Angela said with a laugh, ruffling the acolyte's blue hair again. "What's with you?" She knows that Elrodein noticed it earlier, but she can't just tell to a young girl what had just transpired. She might be scared out of her wits. Elrodein gave herself a mental shaking. This is ridiculous. Her older sister couldn't do that. Never. Maybe she was imagining things, no matter how she tried not to accept that view. She hasn't slept ever since Payon anyway, so it's plausible. It's easier to admit than to think that a person like Angela would just snap out like a crazed, spear-wielding daft inane and start skewering people around. "Just…" she began, trying to find for words to explain that she needed sleep for she's dreaming awake in a formal way. "Just…well, tired." It seems too unsophisticated for the acolyte but she could truly feel the weariness clouding her consciousness.

"Tired? You mean you haven't got a sleep yet?"

"I was excited to meet you." Elrodein grinned sheepishly. True, after the long fiasco in Payon the only thing she was looking up to is to meet her sister. "But all things aside..." She was still curious about the 'riddle' earlier. "Who's that person so similar to me anyway?" Whenever the two talks, it's always between the two of them. It is a rare occasion to have the knight talk about herself or about the people around her. She always reasoned that she is always careful to separate what is supposed to be separated. "Is she real? Or a simply one of your teasing allusions to me?" Elrodein is eager to know something about Angela. She simply conceals any 'unrelated' information between the two of them. But the acolyte gets the idea that this person might be real. There was something in the knight's expressions at that time that vaguely suggests his or her reality…

It was a while before Angela replied. It could be a way to close the conversation – but she wanted it to be an open-ended one, anyway. A faint smile materialized in her sunlight-dappled face. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" The acolyte repeated, perplexed.

"Do you think I just made her up?"

"We are asking you nicely, Governor Yuehn. Don't force us in using the other way around."

Zenin Yuehn could barely contain his anger, yet he knows that he could do nothing. He sat glued on his comfortable armchair, glaring darkly at the half a dozen wizards standing triumphantly over his cluttered desk. His hands were visibly sore from rapping the table to emphasis his repudiation, yet it doesn't seem to help his point.

"This is something I cannot do, Mister Halraence! It is simple unbearable for my part!" he said, trying to keep his voice even, yet it still shook with pent-up rage. "Trevis is my only son! I cannot allow him to be wasted away in your rash plans!"

Mheian Halraence merely smirked at the governor's statement. "Your son's talent would not get wasted, and neither is his life. We are making him a part of Geffen's revival, which would be a great honor for him-"

"Great honor?" Zenin repeated with agitated sarcasm. "Great honor? Geffen's revival? This is mad, Mheian Halraence, this is insanity! You are planning to lead all of Geffen's promising wizards to untimely deaths! There is no honor in this!"

Several of the wizards bristled at the elderly governor's words. Zenin Yuehn may be old and withered in appearance, but behind the frail exterior is the unbendable loyalty to Prontera. Mheian sighed uprightly. Some people are too blinded by power to see the nobleness of his plans, he thought. And Trevis Yuehn is could prove helpful to these noble plans. He needs the young wizard to accomplish them.

"Very well, Governor Yuehn. You leave us with no other alternative." The astute wizard gestured for his companions. They nodded in understanding and quickly left his side, briskly walking across the splendid, carpeted office towards the door. "It pains me greatly to resort to this, but we have no other choice."

The door ominously creaked open. The old governor gasped in horror. "Mheian Halraence, I didn't expect that you had stooped this low!" he screamed hoarsely at the incisive wizard. "Leave my daughter out of this! She isn't the one you are looking for!" He looked despairingly at the teenage mage heavily bound by thick ropes, her mouth covered with cloth and held by two strapping guards. He felt the overwhelming urge to rise from his seat and free his daughter from the foul beings that held her captive – that hold them captive. Yet he knew that age has taken its toll on his strength. The sword by his side is for decorative purposes only - although he still knows how to effectively wield it, his frail body is preventing him to do so.

"She isn't out of this, Governor," Mheian said softly. Every word was assaulting the elderly administrator like poison. Every particle of his being revolted at the sight of the hated wizard by his daughter's side, playfully stroking her chin. The mage tried to maintain calm and composed, but a small, stifled cry issued from her mouth. "By the way, I have your other daughter and her husband plus your wife. The mature woman doesn't seem she could take more stress though…" he smirked. Zenin's breath left him for a split-second in intense fury. He would've done anything to tear the condescending smile from Mheian's face. "The only way out is simple, Zenin Yuehn. We only need your cooperation."

The royal governor of Geffen buried his face into his hands. He had never been in a much tighter situation than this.

_Notes from Aizhen: So, the promised revamp! This pretty much unfolds a great deal about the plot. I hope it is better than before. There is more to this than what is in here, but I thought that it would be putting too much in the first chapter, so it's going to be in the second chapter. You might've noticed it's longer – my prologue alone is lengthier than the previous prologue and chapter one combined. I also retained some of the lines and scenes in the earlier version of chapter 1. Oh yes, thank you very much for the reviews! This is still bound for some last-minute corrections, like correcting typos or 'tightening' of the plot. I write after school hours – so I could be incredibly tired and disoriented and affect my writing. (Plus quiz bees and plays and neglected homework. Oh man…what could a mere sophie do?) Chao!_


	4. Arbitrary Dates

_Disclaimer: Refer to the prologue, people._

Chapter 2: Arbitrary Dates

Angela Saxellianbriskly walked the busy streets of Prontera, the image of Elrodein waving a hand in farewell still in her mind. The young acolyte rushed back to her own home the moment they stepped inside the city, eager for her soft bed. Elrodein isn't exactly alone in life – she still has an elderly aunt left and the acolyte shares the house with her. But to the teen's own admission her aunt isn't too attentive of her. She doesn't seem to care whether she may be gone for days or she doesn't return at all. Not that old lady is a classic vile spinster; Elrodein explains fairly, but only that she doesn't feel anything 'maternal'. She grew up without anyone from her immediate family, and thus heavily invested the affection to her friends. A big part of it was given to Angela - Elrodein saw a sister in her, Angela saw the same.

"My next trip would probably be in Morocc or back in Payon," Elrodein told her casually as they treaded past the merchants stationed by the gates, putting a terse emphasis on 'Payon'. "I might be gone…by tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow."

Angela knew that Morocc isn't anywhere as safe as Prontera. It could be safely said as the exact opposite. If made to choose between the Morocc and Payon, she would definitely choose Payon. At least the hunters are more reputable than the assassins and rogues. She pleaded to the acolyte that if she is ever going to Morocc, she should immediately leave when she gets a bad instinct of the things to come. Knowing the desert city, it could be as well as be true. The knight could've chosen to stop Elrodein altogether, it would be the first thing she would do, yet she knows that once 'adventuring' is already put in the sentence, Elrodein would stop at nothing.

'What a hyperactive holy terror,' she thought to herself, ignoring the urban noise around her. 'If it's me, I would definitely avoid Morocc. I'd rather stay in Payon Cave overnight…'

_Afraid to lose her again…so sisterly of you. So touching._

Oh, beautiful, Angela mentally answered back with an exasperated 'tone'. 'I'm madder at the fact you constantly bug me than the malarkey you bore me with.' She tried to maintain focus at her walking. If she continues striding about the streets while psychologically bickering then she could as well walk to the wall. 'Honestly, am I the only one who had the patience to deal with you?'

_Oh no…sadly, you're not the first. You're father was an enduring man too, you know-_

_Right._ She had grown used to the mental quarrels she always have. She was once warned that those mental quarrels had sent many of her ancestors to madness, but it seems that they were only victims of their own impatience in dealing with those arguments. Dangerous, yes, she still considers that, but one's own shortcomings could be more dangerous than the sharpest blade…

'With the lack of things to do, it seems you gained more access to my mind. If I could simply just walk back to the army I'd do it, my grand misfortune.' She would readily go against the orcs if that is the only way to hush the 'malevolent' being back to its shaft.

_All of your ancestors wished to silence me, yet it only remained a wish. I say the same for you._

'Oh I wish, Zachriel, I do wish…' Angela does appreciate the fact she has saintly patience.

The blonde-haired young man blinked as he gazed at the bleak condition of the city before him. 'By Jupiter, is this former capital of the Moroccan empire?' he thought dubiously, looking carefully at the decrepit sand-colored buildings and trying his best to see any remnants of aesthetic beauty in them. ''Our castle's basement looks considerably better than this!' He quickly corrected himself though. 'My masters' basement, I mean…'

Morocc definitely looked desolate. The splendor once attributed to its stately edifices had faded, its famed wealth all spent to the impractical luxuries of its affluent nobility. Except for a few dignified buildings, Morocc was the picture of poverty. The well-off commoner is a dream of long ago, and in its place was the destitute pauper of the streets. Public discipline and order of any form had vanished and only available to those who could afford them. Instead of guards doing their rounds there are thieves and rogues patrolling the streets for the opportunity of a quick zeny.

Aventine greatly disdains the fact he has to be in the city. Not that he has something to fear – he prides himself for being fearless – but he feels severely irked being preyed upon by covetous stares courtesy of the thieves standing 'innocently' at all corners. He thought that if one of his masters are here, these contemptible people would've either been smoking corpses or halved cadavers, but on the greatest provocation. Glares aren't great aggravations –would he raise hell for a simple envious glare? It was very appealing, but he knows his 'manners'.

"One thief touching me and I'll blast a half of this city to oblivion," he whispered to himself, feeling the greedy glares of the thieves from their corners. He could make out individual flashes of slim metal from obscured angles, illuminating the avaricious expressions of their holders' faces. Maybe he shouldn't have worn such affluent robes – it attracts too much attention. And too much attention means displaying a piece of his temper. But it was the most modest set he could ever find, and he knew it wasn't very convincing.

'Rule number one…' he muttered to himself as a warning. 'Always…be…modest.' And modesty was his worst virtue. Trying to maintain the conceited air to himself, he walked the dusty roads with all the restraint he could ever muster without resorting to bolts and storms. The corners of his mouth were twitched as more and more glares descended upon him. No doubt he looks rich, the thieves thought greedily – the state of the hair was enough indication.

'Rule number two…' He tried to focus his mind on his mission. 'Keep your temper absolutely in check.' Now, patience isn't exactly his forte, but at least it is easier to keep than modesty. People are more annoyed of him than of him annoyed of them, anyway. He could sense that the thieves are quite irked of him, courtesy of the 'superior' atmosphere surrounding him. They bothered not to hide their knives anymore. The only thing needed now is the chance to snatch what could be snatched from him.

The dry desert wind swept across the city, bringing glumness and blinding dust. Aventine wasn't used to these though. As the breeze embraced his slim form, he closed his mahogany eyes as the dust assaulted them-

The chance they were waiting for.

'Zachriel, if you're so eager to have a nice chat with me, we'll have one, okay?'

'Out of bore,' she remarked to herself glumly. 'And resignation.' If 'Zachriel' had driven all the past Saxellians to madness, it has to make a triumph out of Angela. And Angela isn't going to surrender her sanity all too easily. She knows that the best way to deal with Zachriel is to have patience. Loads of it. Somehow she realized that it wasn't so bad after all, or maybe her way of thinking has become twisted to consider it.

'By the way, I'll only do this once in a while,' she told Zachriel warily. It might think she's giving her mind away for showing such gestures of 'friendliness'. 'I'm just wondering why my ancestors all hate you, you know.'

_You hate me too, Angela. You only hate me less and in an eccentric way._

The knight couldn't help smiling at the comment. 'It's just I have the guts to face everything and endure the whole while it's front of me.' She already knows a place to spend the whole conversation in peace. Her feet automatically led her to a familiar route. 'A tormenting pleasure for me, maybe. Sometimes it brings me back to earth, you know.'

_That's why you're the best Saxellian out of them. You simply lasted._

'Probably inherited that from my father.' A recognizable, glass-paneled door stood before her. Beyond the door she could see a few patrons quietly drinking their bottles and glasses. Some of them were talking, others were alone. It was her favorite haunt whenever she needs a few mild drinks. Liquor is needed when dealing with Zachriel. 'Score that to him.'

The thieves, using their honed agility and sneakiness, quickly slithered towards the vulnerable wizard, their sharp knives ready. The wizard obviously has his guard down – a hand was across his eyes, maybe attempting to clear his sight. Their hungry eyes traveled up and down his length, determining where his purse could be…

'Rule number three…' Aventine felt their presence closing in around him. Reddish-brown eyes opened, showing themselves between the openings of his fingers. The thieves suddenly felt their confidence evaporate as they saw the otherworldly force pulsating in those mahogany irises.

'Thou shalt not hesitate if necessary.'

His white blonde hair softly fluttered in a nonexistent wind, removing the hand covering his face to reveal a confident, mischievous grin. The thieves resumed their attacks – not to simply rob him, but to finish him as well. That was the last thought they had in mind, for instantly sheets of lightning simultaneously struck down from the thin air around the mysterious wizard, coursing freely through the thieves' bodies. A chorus of grisly screams emanated from dying mouths, shouting their agony to the searing desert air. But the citizens are too numb to care – they have enough worrying for themselves, and they don't want to get involved into another guild confrontation, which is mostly the scenario when someone screams. The cries slowly faded into nothingness. Into silence. A moment later, deep-fried bodies collapsed lifelessly on the Morocc sands.

"Lucky bastards…" Aventine murmured to himself, casting one final look at the heavily burnt corpses. "I suppose it was too painless." Simply too painless.

He was about to leave when he thought heard something behind him. No, not thought. There is definitely something behind him. The sound of a whimper.

"I missed a pathetic fool like that?" he commented exasperatingly, sharply turning around to face whoever was fortunate enough to be unnoticed. He let out a snort when he saw it was only another thief, obviously younger than the burnt ones before him, cringing behind a worn-out barrel. The wizard's eyebrows rose as he noticed the terrified and pleading look in her eyes. It was quite familiar to him. Oh yes, those were the same expressions people have at the very last quarter-second of their lives. Scared. Terrified. Begging. Aventine is used to it though, and he perfectly knows what to do when dealing with those emotions.

"I-I…I'm not one of them!" she squeaked incoherently, her whole being shaking with fear.

"I didn't…I didn't t-tried…to r-rob you…"

She winced when the blonde wizard stepped forward, a condemnatory look in his fair face.

"P-please…y-you…h-have t-to believe m-me…"

He was barely a meter away now, standing tall over her frightened form. His face read with blankness. Tears streamed out of the thief's imploring eyes. This man easily killed half-a-dozen men without even raising a hand to do so. He could easily kill her with a glare.

"I-I s-swear…I-I w-won't tell…a-anybody!"

The unknown wizard crouched in front of the trembling thief, emotionless and silent. She quailed at the sight of his innocent-looking face and assertive mahogany eyes. A hand gently touched her cheek. A touch as gentle as that of a lover. She jumped back nonetheless, feeling her back colliding with the hard wall. He smiled soothingly at her.

"Aren't you cute?"

The thief felt the temperature inside her rise with emotion. She was safe. This wizard spared her. He isn't that bad after all. _Maybe he likes me_, she thought, slipping into dreamy reveries. Maybe she looks like his girlfriend. _And he is so good-looking too_. The cool reddish-brown eyes glimmered serenely, almost kindly. The handsome smile remained in his face as she felt the temperature rise higher. And higher. And higher-

Until she realized that it wasn't due to the emotions anymore.

Her eyes widened in shock and trepidation as she realized, too late, that…

_I'm on fire._

She began to scream. Screaming the searing pain out. Screaming as the fire rapidly consumed her slim form, starting from her feet and spreading to her whole body. The wizard still wore the damn smile as he withdrew his hand from her now burning cheek. It was hot. Too hot. Hotter than hottest moment Morocc ever had. It was as hot as hell. And its ruler was now grinning at her with some sort of malevolent pleasure. He was no angel of mercy, she thought bitterly as the pain ravaged her like hell itself. An angel of death.

"You're cute, yes, but not cute enough to be spared."

Aventine stood up, chuckling softly. He lazily snapped his fingers as he turned to leave. The flames immediately disintegrated into nihility. A severely burnt body slumped sideward into the sand, crumbling into ashes.

'Rule number five: Never leave any survivors.'

Angela's favorite drink was actually the Pronteran specialty infamously known as the 'Holy Water'. All of Prontera's bars have a large supply of this, for most of the citizens of the capital patronize the drink better than the other ones. It was said that the one who concocted the fine drink was an abstinent priest who had a passion for wine growing.

'Abstinent priests and grapes…tell me, Zachriel, could irony be that great? It is even in urban legends.'

_This world is full of it, as you may have known._

'Oh of course I do know. I and Eroldine is an epitome of the concept, if that's what you're planning to shove to my incredibly guilty conscience, as you may call it.'

_There's no need to shove it to your mind. It's always there._

'…Forever there, in fact.'

_I always wondered why you never searched for her._

Angela looked scornful as she sipped from her glass. Nevertheless her patience lingered. 'My fault, I admit. I thought she would come back…'

_And you eventually forgot her._

Forgot her? Eroldine was beyond unforgettable. 'I didn't. I did try to search for her-'

_But why you never found her?_

'Because she never made herself to be found. It's that simple.' Simple? Right. Damn it, here comes the headaches.

_Oh well, you have point. You did found her again._

The knight chose not to answer. The headaches could only get worse. And the last thing she needs is a bar full of pierced customers. Maybe tolerating Zachriel was a bad idea after all.

_I seemed to hit the spot. I'm _incredibly _sorry for that._

'What entered my head to talk with misery condensed, bent on controlling others through their own sadness?' she asked herself as though it was the worst idea she had ever conceived. 'Maybe Zes was right. I am crazy.' The familiar drawling voice of a certain blacksmith ran through her mind for the fifty-third time already. The knight's face fell as she recalled the precise words. Franzes Arvelaine meant well – very well, in fact – but the words were stingingly true.

"…_First you refuse day offs then you go tramping around Rune-Midgard with a suicidal tendency. You are crazy, hands down. And you know what? You need a boyfriend."_

Boyfriends? She could impale them sooner. Like Eleris said, the saints of Prontera church have to come alive first.

'I'm going insane. I need someone to talk to other than some deranged thing of the past.'

"Lady Angela Saxellian of the Pronteran Army?"

Bingo.

Aventine found himself facing a plain wooden door set in a modestly-sized square building characteristic of Morocc. He genuinely hoped that he isn't mistaken this time. The last house owner was an old man who visibly had a hangover, and abruptly slammed the door shut at his face. The wizard dearly wished to wreck his house with soul strikes, but he knew that he already staged enough show earlier.

He politely knocked on the door. Four seconds passed in silence. He rapped the door until his fist became sore. Ten seconds flew away in stillness. He sighed deeply.

"I'm so sick of this." He said aloud, his hair rising mildly. His mahogany eyes shimmered in a mystical glimmer as he intoned the arcane words of a spell. Almost at the very moment he started white orbs of energy materialized around him and furiously sped towards the target. He could always pay the property damage.

As expected, the flimsy material succumbed to the force of the spell. The wood splintered and fell apart with a lot of cracking and crashing, completely demolished. Aventine smirked grimly and he promptly entered the house as though he did nothing more than knocking civilly.

"I know you'll be my cursed visitor for the day."

Yelthran Sarazen was sitting casually on a comfortable-looking chair, reading a particularly thick book entitled _'Milestones in Magic Volume 3'_. He was slightly older than Aventine with long grayish hair and dark gray eyes behind stylish eyeglasses. The blonde wizard smiled at the remark, calmly approaching the man with an impish look in his eyes. "My hindsight warned me so…" He never mind property damages anyway.

"I can't believe you ditched your nice house in Juno for this." He commented lazily, looking around at the 'humble' abode. It basically looked like a bare sand-colored box with all the basics of a house and heavily packed with books of all kinds. "So your family did drop you out."

"Nah, it's not about family crap," the sage said carelessly, flipping the yellowed pages of the book he was reading. Aventine picked a tattered book from the tottering pile stacked high on the table besides Yelthran. "More like an overzealous fiancée."

The wizard laughed loudly at the answer as he languidly flicked through the dog-eared pages of his book. "Well, I always thought that Zelthrina Zelzah Oriphel was the dishonor of their clan."

"You bet." Yelthran replied drearily, closing the bulky tome with one hand. "She practically hounded me like some manic dog, and her parents became terrified of her behavior. They cancelled the wedding, but Zelthrina was fanatical. So I left Juno without her knowledge and went here. She doesn't have the guts to go here, so I know I'm safe. I liked her sister though…she was simply amazing for a girl. I saw her fight once…mind you, I was astounded."

"Dream on." Aventine remarked as his brow creased in reading. "Ever since her engagement got cancelled, the Lady Zelzah Oriphel of your dreams vowed never to marry." He closed the book so hastily that a few pages were flattened in folds. "You're asking the impossible."

"Dreaming is free, as they say," Yelthran stood from his seat to return the _Milestones in Magic Volume 3 _at its proper shelf. "What brings you here anyway, Aventine Darkhaven?"

Aventine snorted and smiled sarcastically. "By hell, if you're only going to say 'Aventine Darkhaven' with substandard tones, then you're better off with 'Arvin Stria' before I fry you."

Yelthran chuckled heartily at the 'threat'. "Always touchy for Darkhaven matters, aren't we? Fine, Arvin Stria. My apologies." He faced the young wizard, leaning on the shelf full of books, visibly untroubled. Aventine could be a little petulant concerning his 'formal name'. "Back to square one then – what are you here for?"

Aventine's cross voice mostly vanished, although a trace of it remained, stiffening his tone for a bit. "Simple. The books."

"Ah well…which one?" Yelthran always had the habit of borrowing books from the Darkhaven library back in Juno. Before he left Juno to hide from his 'overzealous fiancée', he loaned another batch of books from them.

"Although I would like it to be all, I obviously cannot heave it all back to Juno." Aventine said coolly. "So…I'm going to get the books specially requested by Mistress Khallian, namely: _Milestones in Magic Volumes 4 _and _5 _and _The Noble History of the City of Wisdom 32nd Edition_."

"By Jupiter, she's not tired of history yet?" the sage sighed as he scanned the titles of the books lined on the bookshelf behind him.

"She already memorized the history of Juno, half of Rune-Midgard's history, all of the Prontera Kingdom's history, and has the most comprehensive set of books concerning the history of Glastheim. It isn't much, you now, knowing that her mentor Sir Feren basically knows it all…"

"At least that means she hasn't changed. Is she still the girl whom I had a crush years ago?"

Aventine grinned mischievously. "Of course."

Angela stared at the wizard besides her for a moment. He had messy brown hair and unusually sad green eyes, with fetching features and a slim form. He somehow looked familiar, but all the while he was sitting besides her, she never noticed him until he spoke up.

"That would be me, yes." She replied, trying to hide her uncertainty over the man's identity.

"It's me, Lady Saxellian…" he said softly, almost mournfully. The knight could feel his sadness from those familiar green eyes…green eyes that definitely belonged to someone she knew. "It's me, Trevis Yuehn."

Recollection swiftly ran past the green-haired knight's mind. Trevis Yuehn, one of the most outstanding spell casters of Geffen and the son of the Royal Governor of the city, Zenin Yuehn. A timid and introspective person, Angela had the opportunity to go to adventures with him during her swordsman days while he was still a mage. They were only together for a brief time, since Trevis stayed in Geffen when his father became a governor while Angela continued her escapades with Eleris, Raian, Franzes and Fiel. During the whole time they were together, the green-haired warrior knew that even though Trevis is mostly quiet to the point of near-muteness, he is practically cool and amiable, and once he is in a good talk he never stops chatting until he runs out of air.

"Oh…Trevis…" Angela said, putting down the empty glass of Pronteran wine. "It's been a while." Angela, on the other hand, is a near-mute herself unless forced upon in a talk. "How come…you're out of Geffen?"

Trevis debated within himself. His father forbade him to tell what is happening in Geffen. If the word spreads before the insurgents have Trevis, then they would kill him and his whole family, for they would be assuming that they told it to ask for help. On the other hand, Trevis would really need someone to talk with – someone to pour out all his miseries. He barely had any friends, and most of them are in Geffen. Angela Saxellian was his only friend, or more modestly 'acquaintance', outside the city of magic.

"A long, unbelievable story…"

Aventine Darkhaven naturally hated reading, but because of his will to become a wizard and his Mistress Khallian's preaching about the profits of reading a thick book, he endured the 'despicable ordeal of the books'. So far, he had read enough of them to fill a complete bookshelf, plus a few ones at the very top. But he knows that it was nothing compared to his masters. Mistress Khallian had finished half of their family library's books – she had been reading them ever since she learned how to discern a 'U' from a 'V'. Master Aneldis only read the books in his own room, which could be said quite a lot. All the other Darkhavens have 'reading' as part of their hobbies as though it was part of the Darkhaven bloodline. Only the imperturbable Master Rived openly professed that reading isn't a part of him, which is convincing since he is a lord knight.

'How come Mistress Khallian could endure reading books this thick?' he murmured to himself, pulling the strap of his backpack. 'I would've died midway.' _Milestones in Magic Volume 4 _was about two inches thick, while _Volume 5 _is twice the chunkiness. Both books pale in comparison with the_ Noble History of the City of Wisdom 32nd Edition _- it was as thick as the distance between his little finger and thumb, fully extended.

'Better get a Priest to warp me to Juno before I die heaving this collection of moth-eaten papers.' The wizard thought in annoyance, weaving his way through the filthy narrow alleyways. 'That puts me to another problem. Priests don't stay in a place like this.' The thought of going to Prontera was the only option, but it seemed to be terribly arduous. He isn't blessed with a resilient body – quite the opposite, really. 'I'll die along the way. Oh joy.' With the fierce Moroccan sun high above him, it doesn't seem he would survive the trek through the Sograt. Damn it, why did he forget packing a butterfly wing? He feels superbly uncomfortable buying here – if there are still merchants in this kind of place.

"Won't heaven smile upon me and give me a good-looking priestess?" he said aloud as an expression of annoyance, puffing noisily at the weight of the three books. He swears that when he gets home he'll sleep for an entire day and refuse all the books laid out by Mistress Khallian. "Hell, I want to fry something." Whenever he gets to feel annoyance, he wants to blast it all out with a good magic spree. Back in Juno, he could freely do it in one of the training rooms at his whims, but in a populated place he is quite cautious of it. After all, rule number one says 'Always be modest'.

'Modesty, modesty, modesty…be damned, damn it.' He whispered, turning sharply at a street corner.

It turns out that his prayers were answered.

Angela gaped at the conclusion of the wizard's story. "Are they serious? Those people senseless!" she muttered intensely, trying to keep her feverish voice down. The news of Geffen planning a revolt might cause useless alarm. After all, wizards are capable. "Of course, the Pronteran army won't let them be…but it would be a massacre if most of the Geffenians are for it!"

Trevis looked more despondent than ever. "I know, Jelan…it's nothing but madness! But Mheian Halraence wants independence from Prontera. They felt severely shamed ever since they surrendered to Pronteran might without a fight. Phaestos Elerentt only wanted Geffen to be safe…even with the spells the wizards are bound to get skewered somehow, since shields and armor are present for the army, and those bolts would only bounce away-"

"Well, many of those armor and shields were made by the Arvelaine family, so everything is bound to deflect." Angela said, recalling the distant past. The Arvelaine clan of alchemists and blacksmiths are known for their steeply priced yet finely made products. The clan maintained close relations with the army for a long time, forging the knights' armor and weapons and supplies of potions. The 'outrageously priced masterpieces' were worth it though, for they never falter in their jobs and rarely need repairs, often outlasting their owners. But it wasn't like that now. With Cire Arvelaine being the current clan patriarch, the relationship between the Arvelaines and the army became strained, although the reasons are still not clearly known. There are rumors though, that it was because Cire raised the prices of the clan wares, and the army objected with the extreme increase…

"That's why Elerentt chose to surrender. Even if they rain down spells from afar, knights would still be able to reach them and gut them, thanks to the Arvelaine stuff. But now…the Arvelaines aren't closely allied with the army anymore and they rarely forge items for them. Halraence knew it would be to their advantage. The Arvelaine clan creates the highest quality forged items and with the army wielding weapons and armor of considerably lower quality those would give in easier to their magic. They could seriously wipe the army out…you cannot really say who is going to get massacred."

For a moment Angela thought of her best friend, Franzes Arvelaine. Franzes is a phenomenal forger, even for an Arvelaine. 'She's an Arvelaine…' she pondered for a second before reality hit her. 'But…she doesn't forge anymore….and even if she does, it would be too late. Geffen is ready to explode just about anytime…'

'Arvin Stria' often earned a lot of glares and stares simply at how he seems to walk around and talk about. People often get to notice his airy attitude before anything else. He has a nonchalant look upon him – his chaotic white blond hair disciplined through a 'decent style', red-brown eyes that gleam with an unusual kind of mischief, and good-looking fine features for a face. It usually hides his prowess in magic and leads his all too numerous opponents into thinking that he is all yapping and no skills, which normally delivers them to roasting deaths.

Which isn't much different to what happened just now.

"That was quick," he said brightly, surveying his magnum opus of ashes and broken ice fragments. "Okay priestess, you're obviously safe now."

The pink-haired priestess looked distressingly at the remains of the former thieves 'cornering' her. Her equally colored pink eyes then glared harshly at the blond wizard. "Safe? You killed them, wizard! This is a deplorable act!"

"Hey, they were about to kill you!" Aventine reasoned impatiently, stamping a foot and sending a few of the ashes billowing upward. The alley was getting too suffocating for the wizard. "What should I do, sweet-talk them from it?"

"You shouldn't have killed them!"

"There is no other way, miss priestess." Man, how could someone let their ethics come first before their lives?

"There are many other ways, mister wizard-"

"Oh yes, but they would be so incredibly time-consuming, one of us would have a dagger sticking out of our necks!"

The priestess only glowered indignantly at Aventine. Aventine simply glared back. The wizard realized that she's not the answer to his prayers – another problem, in fact. He's beginning to have headaches dealing with her.

"The law would get you, wizard-"

Aventine rolled his eyes in sarcasm. "Since when did Morocc have laws and law enforcers?"

"The Army is here, murderer! They would surely get you and throw you to wherever hades you deserve to get thrown!"

The blond wizard sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh well…I would only get thrown if somebody gets to act the canary…"

"What's taking that rabble-rouser so long?"

Khallian Darkhaven restlessly paced between the bookshelves of their family library, throwing angry glances to no one in particular.

"In Morocc, where else? That guy's a loyalist, he won't disobey," came the calm reply. "I suggest you simply follow him to wherever he is right now and give him a butterfly wing."

"He'll simply buy them from some merchant," Khallian answered, finally stopping and leaning at a bookstand. "But knowing how impractical Aventine is…and Morocc's no good place for business, so I doubt that merchants would be a common sight."

"That's it. Before he could find one he's dead. And by the way, isn't rabble-rouser such a rough term?"

The scarlet-haired high wizard rolled her eyes. "Fine, so it was violent. But even though that city is a breeding ground of hoodlums, it's still a wide place. What am I going to do, find a needle in a sand dune?"

"Yfel's here, so use him. Properly."

A small brownish-black creature jumped out from behind the other bookshelves, wielding a diminutive pitchfork and sporting small bat wings at its back. It looked extremely cuddly, with its dot-like white eyes and falcate mouth.

"Oh thank you very much, but what could a deviruchi do?"

A book sharply snapped close. "Khal, Yfel practically knows each and every one of us except you and he's friends with your retainer; he's going to sense Arvin even if he's seven feet under the sand."

"Then it means you're coming too."

"Nah. I thought you want to bond with my pet. It won't be friendly with anybody with me around, since it's a bit too busy trying to look cute and impress me."

Khallian was incredulous with the answer. "Zes, you're pet's going to torment me! Let the bonding be set for another day."

"Don't you have any faith in Yfel's virtuousness?" The deviruchi scurried towards a cozy armchair where a young woman with long brown hair in a ponytail was reading a few age-old documents.

"Of course I do, as much as I have faith in Rived turning into a priest."

"Well then, good luck trying to find your loyal retainer in the sands of Sograt."

Khallian knew that Franzes was trying to help and to make mischief all at the same time. She just doesn't have the energy to argue with her. "FranzesCecil Arvelaine, you are so doomed after this." She watched as the deviruchi jumped to her friend's lap, making soft high-pitched sounds. A hand stroked the creature's head affectionately, the metal trimmings of her vambrace catching the sunlight streaming through the large, delicately framed windows.

"Don't worry, buddy. Your library's not going to be wrecked or anything."

"If you do, my father's the one who's going to skin you anyhow. Where's Fiel, by the way? I need his warp."

"Check the chapel or the guestroom…I'm pretty sure he's there." She whispered something to her pet. The deviruchi leaped cutely from her lap and hurried towards the wizard. The latter nearly jumped back when she saw the creature running towards her. She has never been in good terms with Yfel, naming it 'Franzes' demon', and her patience grows considerably short when coping with it. "Could you also say to him that I've found out new braids to try out on his hair?"

"Honestly Zes, I pity Fiel for he has to bear with your 'hairstyling' antics. What are you reading about anyway?"

"Oh come on, I'm only playing with his hair. It's so beautiful, I grow envious of it. Quit invading about my hobbies now, and find the saintly priest."

"Since when did the Arvelaines started to command Darkhavens about?" Khallian grumbled audibly, marching towards the heavily adorned oak door, the deviruchi sparing the walk by grabbing onto her cloak and letting itself to be dragged instead.

"Just now, Khal. And don't compare me with those money-orientated idiots."

"At least I'm sure that you're not money-orientated, but I don't know about the 'idiot' part." Khallian said sincerely, opening the heavy door.

"Khallian Darkhaven, you're going to find out the answer after this."

The door fully swung open and the scarlet-haired wizard treaded outside, still unmindful of the slight weight by her cloak due to the deviruchi clinging to it. "Am I so afraid, seriously! By the way, Aventine Darkhaven is not a retainer, but a member of our clan, got it? I'm going, Zes. Bye for the meantime." The heavy wooden structure closed with a creaking noise. 'Why does my cloak feel a little bit too heavy anyway?'

Franzes Arvelaine smiled at her friend's last words. She reflected on the fact that Khallian would have to bear with her pet deviruchi. Amusing, but she feels incredibly lethargic for the meantime, having sifted through numerous weaponry-related books. The blacksmith knew it was quite surprising for someone like her, who hasn't forged for years...

'Better not to think about all sorts of things…' she said to herself, stretching her limbs and yawning widely. She feels the incredible need for something to drink, preferably Aldebaran whiskey, but she reminded herself this isn't her house in the first place to make too much demands. 'I feel like seeing Fiel…I'd better check him out. He could've fallen asleep in the chapel. What a saint.'

Franzes slid from her squashy seat and stood up, her pale and shapely form bathed in the citrine light of the chandeliers. Her auburn hair was tied in a way that it looks like she has short hair with jagged edges that curve outwards. She has an unusual, unpredictable air around her, her every move cool and unrestrained. Her eyes were the most strange, however – it wasn't solidly pigmented like other people, but rather tinted with three colors: red, blue and violet. All three seemed to melt harmoniously in her irises as one looks into them, enthralling and mysterious.

'I wish the others are here though…I'd really love to kid the hell out of Jelan…'

_Notes from AiZhen: Fine, so most of you guys already think I'm dead or have forgotten since I didn't update soon enough. No, I'm still alive, although barely. I typed the first part of this chapter with a stuffy nose, while the second part was made with me finally finishing the cursed extemporaneous speech (I hate 2 minute time limits!) and after a good bout of fever. I also typed this without any internet connection for weeks or what…so I can't properly answer reviews yet, but thank you all!_

_Chao!_


	5. Friends

_Disclaimer: See the prologue, people._

Chapter 3: Friends

_The blue-haired boy felt his insides flip over as he gazed down into the turbulent inhabitants down below. The people looked no larger than his fingernails from his watery view, running wildly through the streets in frenzy. The hunters and archers swiftly dashed about, falcons following them faithfully. The populace didn't let the long-ranged specialists handle all the action though – most are wielding crude clubs, pitchforks, spades and knives, brandishing them riotously. Murderously. There were frenzied shouts, feverish screams and chaotic battle cries from one end of the town to the other. Nobody noticed a young boy standing hazardously at a windowsill high above them._

_A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the scene, the roaring thunder making the young boy jump from his perilous place. He had fortunately grabbed the window frames when he felt his bare feet leave the windowsill. He gave a fearful look behind him. The decrepit room had disappeared into an impenetrable wall of fire. He set his frightened blue eyes back at the scene many feet below him. He had always hated heights. But jumping down from a window has better chances of survival than being burned to death, isn't it?_

_After all, he has nothing to lose._

_As another sheet of lightning streaked through the overcast skies, he felt his fingers loosen its grip from the rickety wood._

_It was unusually dark even if his eyes were closed. His body ached terribly, his mind still numb. His lethargic eyes refused to open. But the pain didn't come from what it is supposed to come from. It didn't come from plummeting down a window. It was something like of being knocked out. He tried to move his legs, but he found out that he cannot even feel them anymore. _Wake up, you crazy fool, _he told himself blearily, _now look what happened to you…

_His brilliant ultramarine blue eyes gradually opened. It wasn't wholly different from having eyes closed. The place was dark and has a strangely heavy air of…negativity. It didn't certainly felt like the town. This is too quiet to be the place where he grew up._

'Now what…?' _His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as the aching fully woke him up. The only thing he could do is breathe. The stone floor was cold and rough and littered with rough and uneven stones. He could feel them under his hands and head, jabbing his skin. He could finally make out blurry, indistinct outlines of ancient stonework. Raising his head to look around, he realized that a large boulder had fallen across his legs, effectively trapping them. He looked at it with disbelief for a split-second before he dropped his head back to the cold rough pavement. How come he's here? What happened?_

_What…?_

"Fiel…hey, buddy…"

Fiel stirred and slowly shook his head to remove the drowsiness. 'One of those dreams again…' he mentally remarked as he opened his eyes. He occasionally had them from time to time, but he never really cared about it.

"Come on, if you're sleepy, don't sleep while sitting…"

Groaning weakly, the priest fully opened his stunning ultramarine blue eyes. The altar first came into view, bathed in dim light from the flickering candles. The rows of shiny wooden pews ahead were empty. Looking around, he finally faced a slightly irked young woman with dark brown hair and reddish blue-violet eyes.

"What's up with you, sleeping around inside chapels!" she hissed intensely, glaring at him. Fiel mentally winced at her expression. She looks ready to eat him. "And to think you're a priest…"

"Fine, so it was absolutely lame of me," he hastily said in apology. "But what's with the holiness in you today…it certainly doesn't fit you…" He promptly silenced as Franzes gave him a weak bout on the head.

"So Arvin isn't back from Morocc yet?"

The hallways of the Darkhaven castle were bathed in golden afternoon light. Bright rays filtered through the crystal clear windows, illuminating the large dignified portraits hanging on the wall. Yet even with the apparent sunny glow, everyone knows that the estate still has its enigmatic and furtive quality. Visitors were often 'intimidated' with its splendor and forbidding ambience, making them hesitant to return. Maybe it was in the way how the shadows still retain their dominance even with the sunlight present or how every piece of furniture is shrouded with mystery. But for Fiel and Franzes, a couple of visits were enough to dispel all apprehension.

"Yep, and Khal's going there to search for him," Franzes replied, looking at a large picture of an ancient and stern looking sage at her right. 'Man, it's hard to imagine that people like these were Khal and Rived's ancestors…' Save for the prominent red hair, the sage had nothing in common with her friends. She immediately shook the thought off.

"I suppose she got a bit hesitant to wake you up in the chapel, so she ran off to find Feid instead." She glared at him again. "It's supposed to be meditation, not a sleeping session. And don't try telling me again that sanctity looks ghastly on me, because I do have a faith, thanks to you and Jelan's holy influences."

"Fine, so I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the priest repeated with a repentant tone. "But you made me work worse than a pecopeco last night, I was so tired. It's partly your fault, you know-"

"Well, if you haven't returned the books back at the shelves yesterday, we wouldn't spend the whole night relocating them and the documents between their pages!" Franzes fired back at him, pulling his waist-long ponytail. Fiel let out a pained 'ouch'. It's always a plaything for her. "Get my point?"

"I get it." He mumbled weakly. Franzes finally let go of her vice grip on his ponytail. To prevent any more yanking of his hair, which always brought pain, he untied the thin strip of cloth tying it. The silky silvery blue hair freely cascaded down his back, accentuating his fair skin and attractive face. He looked feminine and masculine all at once, with his refinement and slim form.

"Khallian even had my deviruchi with her." Franzes told him casually, trying her best to ignore the chilling looks of the portraits of ancient Darkhavens and the cold austerity of the busts lined along the hallway. She always thought that the artists and sculptors commissioned by the family were sort of disturbed people to create 'art' the arctic way. "Even though Morocc looks worse than Glastheim, it's still labyrinthine. The high wizard could blow half of the damn city's population if she's going to search for him like a hair strand in a sand dune."

"Implausible. Arvin would've already killed more than half of the city by now, or it's already blown off the map."

"Nah, I don't think so. The guy is still bound by some manners."

"I feel a bit of regret of warping him there."

"You feel like an instrument of murder? Yeah, right."

"Not that one. Knowing Arvin, he could've already fainted from the desert sun. I bet he forgot a butterfly wing."

"Exactly. And I thought I was the only one suffering from absent-mindedness."

"Don't worry, it wasn't as worse as before. I still remember the times when you accidentally use my-"

A murderous glare from her quickly silenced him. A single word isn't worth the risk.

"Thankfully, we almost have the same waistline, so it wasn't that loose." She remarked through gritted teeth.

"Okay, that thing's cogs are loose!"

Eleris Oranir carefully aimed the silver-tipped arrow at the alarm's mask. Licking her lips, she let go of the projectile and watched it zip through the heavy air. The arrow hit the target with such force that it completely shattered the mask. The alarm ambled sluggishly for a moment before it finally fell with a crash.

"Rai! How are things?" She called out boisterously, automatically taking another silver arrow from her quiver. The engaged answer came from her far right.

"A bit fine, thanks!"

Raian Gaviel clenched his teeth as he ducked to avoid a deathblow from his alarm. Several gashes marked the monster's bizarre body, but it still deals its punches effectively. With his slight physique, a few blows could render him unconscious. Gripping his trusty two-hand axe tighter, he forcefully swung the heavy weapon towards the slash-riddled body of the alarm. He felt the powerful blade splintering the wood and crushing the mechanisms inside it. He kicked the monstrosity away with all his strength to free his axe. It doesn't look anywhere near collapsing into a heap though.

"Want some help?" Eleris offered with a sneering laugh, aiming at the alarm. Raian snorted at her proposal.

"Thanks for the concern, but it is hideous coming from you!"

The huntress looked incredibly insulted – almost ridiculously insulted – at the statement. The alchemist grinned at himself and launched another attack at the alarm before it assaults him first. His hits had started to take effect – the alarm could barely stand straight. But its wildly swinging arms could still knock the air out of him. Evading them yet again, Raian raised the two-hand axe high above him and brought it down with crushing force. The blow struck the alarm near its mask and lacerated it downward, exposing its broken mechanic interior. At that moment, a silver-tipped arrow whizzed through the air and struck the alarm's immaculate mask. Raian frowned at the intrusion and looked at Eleris menacingly over his shoulder.

"Well, it's basically over, so it doesn't do anything, right?" she stated innocently, shrugging. Raian rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

The alarm collapsed in a dramatic manner after his word.

Clock Tower, although notorious for its labyrinthine passageways and scary interior of clocks and cogwheels, never failed to attract a lot of 'tourists'. Actually, 'tourists' are either the adventurers who sought the thrill of the tower or the sages who try to find out more of its secrets. Although it was everyday plagued with overzealous spellcasters accidentally hitting mechanisms instead of monsters and warriors with poor aims, the tower has amazingly endured all ill-treatment humans had gave it.

"They're not here." Eleris said, looking slightly crestfallen and biting her lip. "Anyone there, Rai?"

Raian emerged from the shadows and shook his head. "All I saw were skeleton bones. Unless decomposition goes here at a faster rate, it's not them."

"What's up with kids nowadays, going to places way beyond their capabilities!" the huntress said anxiously. "Raian, at least you could've warned them as someone older and wiser!"

The alchemist merely frowned at her as he dusted himself. "I did. They didn't listen. Is that still my fault?" He coolly walked past her, deliberately ignoring her blazing orange eyes. "Besides, back when we're also 'kids' we considered the pyramids of Morocc to be a playground."

Eleris stormily trailed after him, her naturally loud voice reverberating back eerily. "We had Fiel, Feid, Khal, Zes and Jelan – two acolyte prodigies, a suicidal swordsman, a trigger-happy wizard and a merchant who could swing an axe faster than a lumberjack. With those people around, the pyramids looked safer than Prontera at night-"

"You forgot another merchant who could concoct acids ever since novicehood and an archer with a four-eyed aim."

The huntress rolled her eyes. "Whatever. And I normally don't wear glasses. It was for fashion reasons."

"First time I knew you had one."

Eleris seriously looked murderous for a split-second. Huffing loudly, she quickly snatched Raian's glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"Of course I have one, you moron!"

Raian consciously ignored her again. It didn't seem to matter to him whether he has his glasses or not.

"If you call your hairstyle a fashion, then I might as well call rags as the latest fad."

The huntress flushed at the reference, but she decided not to answer. The longer this argument drags on, the more she'll get irritated. Raian is the best annoyer in their little group – and his favorite subject is Eleris. Their fights could range from a short exchange of taunts to a week-long indifference. It was often a source for entertainment for their other friends, who often serve as mediators if they ever get into a more serious fight.

"Raian Gaviel, you're going to regret the day you met me." Eleris hissed venomously, pocketing Raian's glasses. Her mind began to devise convoluted plans of revenge, ranging from making him a target practice up to pushing him from the tower's ledges. Raian simply disregarded her threat and continued to walk superlatively unconcerned.

"Ah well, am I so afraid." Inside though, Raian could barely control himself from laughing out loud. Eleris is the best person in the world to infuriate, and he has succeeded in doing so. Jelan was simply to saintly to get mad, while Zes could either ignore him completely or chop him to pieces. Fiel 'good-naturedly' snubs every word. Eleris, on the other hand, would surely get barmy and shout her head off, but she never resorts to violence to settle matters.

"I'll just take further notice of your little threat outside, when we've found our little friends."

The huntress scowled heavily, but realized that a party of acolytes and mages weigh more than an argument about fashion sense.

"And you'll see how little my threat is."

"Any luck finding anything on _A Treatise on the Supremacy of Magic_?"

Franzes grunted as she stood on her toes, trying to return a thick tome with a ridiculously long title. The bookshelves are three feet taller than she is, and since she dislikes resorting to high heels to improve her mediocre height, it often presents a problem.

Fiel rolled his eyes. Franzes always tries to do things by herself, even if she looks quite absurd doing so. Standing up from his plush sofa and setting aside his moth-eaten book, he wordlessly took the tome from her hands and effortlessly returned it back to its proper place. The blacksmith secretly glared at him but dropped it soon enough to go unnoticed.

"Sadly, there's nothing in that one." He answered, going back to his seat. He grabbed another book from a nearby table and began flicking through the pages, looking for unusual pieces of parchment between them. "Are you sure that's the same bookshelf we scanned yesterday?"

"Dead sure." She said absentmindedly, pulling a random book from a lower shelf. "Okay…so out of thirty papers, we already had…"

"Twenty-five."

Franzes gave a little smile. "Okay, five more to go."

Looking at the young blacksmith beyond his _A Genealogy of the Wizard and Sage Clans of Juno_, Fiel thought Franzes must've been such a dedicated daughter to actually find the writings her father discovered and treasured.

"What do you plan with the documents your dad had hidden?"

He saw Franzes lift an eyebrow in thought. "Maybe I'll study it."

"You'll return to forging?"

Franzes closed the book with a sharp snap. The shimmering red depths of her multicolored eyes glimmered with an unknown edge. "I said 'study'."

Fiel decided not to follow the topic further. He had always known her better than anyone, being her constant unofficial 'partner'. Forging had always been a sensitive subject for her. Lowering his eyes to the barely legible text, he reminded himself that it would probably take a long time before she becomes interested in forging again. _But there's a good chance she would never forge again, after all the mess she's been through in the name of the 'noble art.' There are those who just put too much value in forging that they forget people around them…_

"Ah well…enough forging stuff," Franzes murmured, returning her present book and attempting to reach another volume at a higher shelf. She grasped the tip of the spine. "I think I remember this book from yesterday." Pulling it by the lower spine, the book came free, but she lost her hold on it. Fiel instantly put down his weighty digest as he heard a restrained 'ouch'.

"Zes?" he said concernedly, quickly coming towards her. A hefty book was on the carpeted floor, lying on its pages. Franzes was right beside it, a hand over her forehead. She was biting her lower lip as she replied.

"Aw, it's nothing…a book just hit me on the head." She said in a casual voice, but it didn't stopped Fiel from approaching her. _Man, he is sure my personal nurse._

"You never learn, do you?" The priest chastised mildly, gently taking off her hand over the spot where the book hit her. The blacksmith was almost reluctant to do so, but consented. He laid a hand over the nasty-looking bruise and Franzes felt the warm energy closing the wound. She thought in enjoyment that she is sure lucky not only to have a best friend and a personal nurse, but a _handsome _best friend and personal nurse at that. Many women in Prontera would do anything to be in her shoes. _Sorry ladies, I know his tastes. _And it certainly doesn't include women who publicly give him smoldering looks or seek all sorts of elaborate ways to get his attention. It's a form of entertainment for her to watch girls fawning over him, and his funny reactions when they start doing so.

"Next time, if you want to pick anything beyond your height, _please _call me," he told her, ruffling her hair. Franzes let out a cry and before she could hit his hand, he had withdrawn it, laughing. If there's one thing she hates to get messed up, it's her hair. She could get a bit rough and unladylike, but she beats hairstylists when it comes to hair consciousness.

"Fiel, I'll seriously give you a hair torture if I do get my hands on you!" she declared heatedly, trying to flatten the wild strands.

"Well, if you're really going to get your hands on me, why not?"

"Fiel Esteven, are you challenging me?"

Fiel grinned sneeringly. Franzes wickedly glared.

Neither of them noticed that the old book on the floor had an old yellowed piece of parchment between the whiter pages of the tome.

"Where are Eliria and Vailtren when you need them?"

Raian obviously meant it to annoy Eleris. The latter stoically ignored it. The clump of acolytes and mages behind them looked at them with interest. The moment they came to 'take them out' up to now, they had been exchanging short bouts of taunts every now and then. The words range from minor jeers up to loud curse words that make them flinch. One still has to show signs of giving up though, and neither of them looks ready to admit defeat.

"Well, yeah…where is Eliria and Vailtren?" a blonde acolyte quietly asked the orange-haired mage besides him. Eliria, Vailtren and Raian are 'patrons' of the Clock Tower and have befriended many people in their escapades, including the younger ones who venture inside. Sometimes the trio accompanies these 'children' inside, just for the sake of fun.

"Haven't you heard? A few close friends of the two had been killed here a few days ago."

"Well, the only friend I know Miss Sage and Wiz guy had is Acid Man."

"But we didn't know that Acid Man had a new girlfriend-"

"Girlfriend? More like a wife, judging from the way they talk-"

"If Rai's Acid Man, then she's-"

"Curse Arrow, yeah…she's streaming out curse words faster than a soul strike anyway."

They giggled. A bit too loudly.

A piercing glare from 'Curse Arrow' made them bite their tongues.

'Children! Those kids are totally out of their minds!' The huntress thought resignedly, returning her gaze back at the gloomy path ahead. They must've forgotten she has keen hearing and had heard every single word – every damn word. 'Girlfriend? _Wife? _For the sake of my dignity, that's impossible.' She has no intention to be included in his girlfriend collection. 'Not with Acid Man! Never!'

'But…well, he has the looks to support that ridiculous collection of his,' she mused, shooting a furtive glance at the alchemist. He had a youthful, smooth face and prominent spiky black hair that stood up at all directions. Pale lightning blue eyes were charming behind black-rimmed glasses.

'Get off it. He always looks like that.'

Giving her head a little shake, she again disregarded the bee-like whispers behind her and the terribly upsetting presence of Raian nearby. 'Don't get hypnotized by his damn looks! You wouldn't want to be the twenty-third girl, right, Elle?'

The small, tapering light ahead made her fiery orange eyes squint. 'Oh good…we're nearly outside. I could finally vent my anger on him unrestrained.' She fingered the slim frame of the glasses inside her pocket. 'I have something good against him. Rai couldn't possibly identify a person more than three feet away without his glasses.' Eleris had to suppress a wicked grin. The image of Raian – the calm and composed one – looking all too confused and bumping into lampposts was quite amusing. 'Don't worry Raian; you're going eat everything you said.'

Eleris couldn't help giving a glare at the blonde acolyte as the latter waved a goodbye outside the tower.

"Well Raian," she said coolly, facing the alchemist with an unflappable face. "We have found our little friends, and our threat is now over."

Raian looked at her with the same irritatingly serene expression. Eleris couldn't help feeling irked at his face. "So?"

"Payback."

The alchemist looked thoughtfully innocent for a second. "Ah, alright. I remember. What are you going to do anyway? Use me for target practice?"

Eleris brought out his black-rimmed glasses and waved it in front of his face. Her countenance was smugly triumphant. "I'll make you wish things would become clearer."

Much to her secret dismay though, he doesn't look at the very least worried. He simply gazed at the pair of glasses with mild interest. "Oh, that." He put on another irritatingly innocent face. Eleris is sure he is doing it on purpose, just to annoy her. "That's why I could barely recognize _that _face of yours."

"Acting superior won't do you any good, honey," the huntress said, the aggravation in her tone barely hidden. "Just a nice apology would do, and these glasses are all yours."

Raian gave an audible snort. "In your dreams, love." _Apology? To you? _Raian never loses an argument to Eleris. Well…maybe once or twice, but he always emerges out as the winner in most of their wrangles. _It takes more to force me to apologize, Elle. Dream on, sweetie._

Eleris was about to retort when Raian extracted something from a small bag on his belt. She gave an irate gasp. _The moron! He's ready for every situation!_

"It pays to be ready all the time," the alchemist said airily, pushing the black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were identical to the ones Eleris had in her hand. "Sorry Elle. Glasses aren't exactly that expensive." He gave a restrained chuckle. "Anything more?"

The outrage in Eleris' voice helped to catch the attention of passers-by. Many turned their heads towards the commotion while a few raised their eyebrows in disapproval. Raian could feel their derogatory glances boring down on them, but he paid no heed. It doesn't really matter much.

"You _freaking damn _win for today, Raian Gaviel!"

"You forgot 'again'."

The huntress bit her lip in order to contain her overflowing frustration. Rain Gaviel wins…_again_!

"Aw, shut up, you womanizing moron! I have enough of your freaking face! Go find some god-damngirlfriend for the night!"

She crossly left, her face resembling a full-fledged storm. People stepped back as she passed, throwing critical looks at her back, but no one had the guts to openly tell her. A handful glanced questioningly at the dark-haired alchemist whom the huntress had shouted upon. They were surprised to see him calm and composed as though nothing happened.

"Ah, women," he whispered to himself resignedly. It seems like he overestimated her patience. "I guess she's going to drown herself in whiskey again." And a drunken Eleris is going to be a real pain to get along with. _I'd better find her before she begins a frenzied target practice._

The customers quite liked the 'new look' of their young bartender.

"Those glasses fit, Rai."

Raille grinned in appreciation at the comment as he filled the glass to the brim with champagne. His youthful face was reflected in the sparkling liquor, his charismatic amber eyes framed with simplistic yet stylish black-rimmed glasses.

"I just thought of a small change in appearance," he explained amiably, replacing the bottle to its proper place. "I guess you people are getting bored with my face."

"Nah, you're a nice chap," an elderly townsman commented with a hiccup. "You get along with all kinds of people."

"Well, almost all," interrupted another with a playful beam. "Except for women."

The young hunter gave a small but sheepish smirk. "Aw, come on. Not on that topic again."

"Yeah Raille…look at yourself! You're young and good-looking; you could've had a dozen girlfriends already! But we haven't seen a trace of any girl around you."

"Don't tell me you practice abstinence! I know some priests who have hordes of girlfriends-"

"Come on people," Raille said evenly, twiddling the cap of an empty bottle. "Women aren't my line. I'm incredibly bad with them."

"Try going out more and see how many girls would be groveling at your feet."

Raille tried to imagine, but he couldn't seem to do so. _Just a few years more and I could already forget how a woman looks like. _Females do not frequent his bar often – that brown-haired lord knight a few days ago was the most recent he could remember. _Raille Novensiles, you could become a hermit._

The violent banging of the door brought an end to the conversation. Everyone looked in silence as a young huntress with long blonde hair in braids and ponytails thundered in and directly took the seat in front of Raille. Judging from the way she made an entrance and the way she walked, even a blind man could tell how irritated she is. Nobody dared to ask though – she looked ready to make a pincushion out of anyone.

"Aldebaran whiskey! Roll it!" Eleris snarled at the blonde-haired hunter behind the counter. The customers winced at the hostility in her voice. Raille merely stared at her for a split-second before he complied with her order. Moments later, he gently placed a bottle of Aldebaran whiskey and a tall glass in front of her.

"Here's your order – the famed whiskey." He said with a slightly cheerful voice. She looked up at him with a glare. A few customers feared for the young bartender's life.

Raille wasn't frightened though. The calm and cool countenance was still there, his amber eyes unyielding to fear. "I'll give you a few tips though," he edged closed to her good-heartedly. "If you want to forget something, Payon spirits are better. Aldebaran whiskey doesn't pack the spirits' one-two punch."

There was a second of silence before she replied. "Payon spirits is beyond my tolerance," she answered in a stiff voice. The bartender gave her an easy smile.

"Well then, enjoy the whiskey. I hope it helps."

He walked away from her to chat with the other clients. Eleris couldn't help observing him.

_He looks a bit familiar…_

Taking a sip of her whiskey, she began to survey the bartender. His shiny blonde hair reached down past his shoulders and tied in a ponytail. Serene amber eyes were bordered with black-rimmed glasses, making him a bit more mature-looking. His youthful, fair face always keeps a pleasing smile which he readily gives to everyone. His every move was easygoing and relaxed, giving him an air of friendliness. Eleris felt the anger slowly slipping away as she gazed longer at him. The bartender was too immersed with his conversations to notice.

_I know he looks like someone…I swear I do…_

"…can I have another bottle here, Raille?" said a wrinkled old man seated on a corner. "Albertan champagne."

"Sure, just wait a second…I think the ones here are all empty. I'll look at the back."

"Make it quick, Rai. I haven't said the climax of that story!"

The bartender quickly slipped away as the other patrons talked among themselves. Somehow, Eleris felt a little left out. She wasn't used to be alone in bars.

_Damn it, I wish I have someone here…_

Most of the time, 'someone' meant 'Raian', but due to the traces of aggravation left inside her, she doesn't want to admit it to herself. The alchemist has to say an apology first – nothing less than that, or else he's going back alone and would have to face the interrogations of Jelan and Zes.

_And those two employ torture as a means of extracting truth._

But could she last Aldebaran without company? The town isn't exactly her favorite place. The truth is she barely knows it. The only thing to do is go home alone – which is something she doesn't like to do too. It means hiking through the marshes and Mt. Mjollnir alone – not that she couldn't take care of herself, but it would be a long dreary trip, not to mention tiring. That means…she has to approach Acid Man herself.

_But if I give up, that means another victory for that idiot. His head is already too inflated._

"Hey Rai! You're taking a lifetime in there!"

_Rai? Well, it fits…Raille is Rai…_

"Sorry guys! Wait for just a moment."

The door banged open again and everyone's heads turned. A young man with spiky black hair and black-rimmed glasses hastily stepped inside. Eleris felt herself groaning.

_Oh great, there's the other Rai now…_

"There you are, honey," he said with a faint chastisement, briskly walking towards her. "I've been searching this city upside down for you!"

"Oh _suuuuure_." Eleris said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Cost you a lot, isn't it? Did it kill you by any chance?"

Raian looked submissive as he gazed directly at her eyes and held her gently at the shoulders. The bar's patrons, who had been whispering among themselves ever since Raille left to fetch the Albertan champagne, suddenly turned silent. Eleris' defenses greatly gave way, but she knew better than to show it to him.

"I'm only going to say this once, and I want a clear answer," Eleris knitted her eyebrows at the alchemist's statement. But before she could react, he had already spoken up.

"Eleris Oranir," Raian said slowly and clearly, as though he wants every single word to have great impact to everyone present. "I'm sorry."

The whole bar was quiet for a few seconds.

_Raian actually gave an apology? That's rare._

Eleris sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. At least he had deflated a bit.

"You're forgiven."

_Aw man…I wish this could've been longer._

Raian grinned happily at her as he removed his hands from her shoulders. "Good. Now where are my glasses?"

"What's up with your glasses? You're wearing one," she replied with a raised eyebrow. She slipped from her seat and hurriedly walked past him. He briskly followed suite.

"It's none of your business. Just give it back."

She opened the door as she looked over her shoulder to glare at him.

"If you want it back, talk to me nicely. And what's the use? You have glasses!"

"Well…well…" Raian hesitated for a moment. "The glasses I'm wearing right now are the ones I used a couple of years back…and you know my myopia is progressing…"

Eleris beamed at herself. Payback time.

"Where's the huntress here?"

Raille returned from the back room with an armful of Albertan champagne, looking a little pained from the effort.

"Some alchemist guy apologized to her and they just left," piped the elderly man who ordered the champagne. "I think they're lovers, from the way the lad said his apology."

"That explains her long face earlier," Raille grunted as he placed the bottles on a table behind the counter.

"Strange thing is…" said another thoughtfully. "You know what Raille, that alchemist dude looks a little bit like you."

The hunter greatly frowned at the comment, but no one saw it since he was facing away from them, arranging the bottles to their proper shelves. "How come?"

"Well, at first glance, you two are really similar. You even have the same glasses."

_Someone who looks like me…_

Raille couldn't help smirking.

_Interesting._

He again faced his customers, the frown and the smirk absent from his face. The usual warm ambience was there.

"Maybe it's just a bit of coincidence."

"Well, maybe."

He shot a glance at the empty glass and the partly drained Aldebaran whiskey bottle.

"You know Raille, that huntress there was quite a looker," mused another townsman. "She was just in a bad mood."

"I guess so," the bartender said absent-mindedly. Something in the bottle and the empty glass was telling him that something's not right – that something is missing. But what?

"I guess you'll look good -"

A sharp and troubled 'uh-oh' from the hunter disrupted his statement.

"What about it Rai?"

Raille Novensiles looked sheepishly at his customers as he put away the Aldebaran whiskey bottle and the empty glass.

"That huntress forgot to pay."

_FINALLY! Chapter 3! I know it was annoyingly long before I had an update, but I swear I was busy! Please bear with me! This chapter still has lots of mistakes, as this was rushed, and so expect some changes._

_Chao!_

_Aizhen_


	6. Letters

_Disclaimer: See the prologue, people._

Chapter 4: Letters

"Are we really gone for that long?"

Franzes idly twiddled the envelope between her fingers. She slowly paced back and forth on the luxurious blue carpet before settling down on the comfy canopy bed.

"It only felt like a few days or something."

She had opened the envelope when the reply came from the nearby bathroom.

"Well, it's only a few days. But your friend is such a fidget; she could've felt we're gone for a whole month."

It sounded strangely muffled and distorted. Somehow it made Franzes smile faintly.

"Yeah, and you're taking a whole year inside that bathroom."

"Fine. I'm already drowning inside, by the way."

Franzes wriggled her boots as she waited. "Make it quick. I don't want to sound like a nanny telling bedtime stories."

She extracted the parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. _Jelan writes really well, _she mused at the neat lines of cursive writing. _I suck at it when I don't have guide lines._

The bathroom lock unfastened and the door rasped open. Franzes remained still in her seat, her back facing the bathroom. She was too occupied reading Angela's letter to take any notice. It was only when she felt the bed strain from extra weight did she finally snapped back to her senses.

"Took you long enough," she said vaguely. A curtain of damp pale blue hair draped down in her peripheral vision.

"Look who's talking. You practically have a swim, a nap, a coffee break, wash clothes and forge inside the bathroom."

"Right," Franzes' response was dripping with sarcasm. "You, on the other hand, read the whole Bible and recite the entirety of the Psalter, and-" She looked up at him. Then her multicolored eyes traveled down and widened in realization. She promptly shelved her statement.

"What?" Fiel blinked at her expression. It was like she saw something really shocking. It quickly shifted to a hardened scowl before she hastily turned away from him. Fiel knew it usually meant something bad.

"Tell me, Head Priest Fiel Esteven," Her words were severe and sopping wet with conviction. Fiel doesn't need to see her face just to know how she was feeling at the moment. "Did you wear something before you stepped out of the shower?"

"Of course I-"

"Other than a towel!" she cried out in an upsurge. She refused to face him, and he was glad that she is. He would readily cringe at the sight of her.

"Well, that's the problem-"

There was a moment of silence. Silence that he surely doesn't want to break.

"Then _damn _wear something!"

"Hold your heart in there! Don't shout at my ears!"

"Indecency! You're a priest for god's sakes!"

"Wait a minute, who's always half-naked between the two of us? And you're rushing me earlier!"

"Hey, I wear the long-sleeved attire of female blacksmiths! The only things I wear short are shorts! And don't change the subject! Don't tell me it's just because most of the women of Prontera fantasize you every night-"

"Don't get too excited. I'm not going to rape you or something."

"Say that again and I'm going to eviscerate you!"

Khallian could only roll her eyes at the hullabaloo raging inside one of their guest rooms. Thankfully her father was outside for 'social engagements' – something that he rarely attends - or he could've demanded for silence in a more violent manner. Maybe spending some quiet moments in a room besides the guest room of two earsplitting visitors isn't wise. Biting her lip, she tried to concentrate on the slim book she was reading, but Franzes' rants were getting the better of her attention.

"Your friends are a bit at home, don't you think?"

Khallian couldn't disagree. She absent-mindedly flitted through the pages of her tome, all the while considering if she should walk up to Franzes and Fiel and make them shut up.

"They're not usually like that."

She stole a glance at the figure sitting nearby. Candlelight glinted on his dark armor and dark red hair that stood up in prominent spikes. His ponytail was draped on his shoulder, reaching down to his waist. His slanted blood red eyes were sharp and cold unlike the volatile almond-shaped ones of his sister. His face was fair, but distant and reserved. His form was quite slim for a knight, but anybody who knew him that it belies his immense strength and skill.

The high wizard could only vaguely nod at his brother's remark. "I suppose so. You know how…unpredictable those two are. But they can be frighteningly decent." She chose not to use 'crazy' and 'inane', and decided to attach a good phrase for the two. _Hey, that's a bit of truth. Fiel is decent most of the time, and although Zes is a bit of a war freak, she's still upright. Just violent._

"Come on Rived, it doesn't really matter if they are noisy or not."

Rived glared at her. She glared at him back. The flickering light of the candles hanging soberly in the midair glimmered in their eyes.

"Fools."

Khallian secretly grinned as she lowered her attention back to the book she was reading. Touchy, as usual.

"Of course, everybody else that is not you is a fool."

_…You two are taking an eternity back there! It's incredibly lonely back here! Raian and Eleris are in Aldebaran to have some of their 'adventures' yet again, and so I am like a solitary hermit. Yes, I have my younger sister Elrodein for company, but she ran off to Morocc as soon as she arrived here in Prontera, although we did have some talk…_

"Jelan couldn't really survive life without someone for company," Franzes commented with a sigh. Fiel leaned over her shoulder to have a good look of the letter. The blacksmith could smell a faint, pleasant scent emanating from him. "Tell me, did you use a whole bar of soap?"

Fiel glowered at her. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't like strong scents."

Franzes purposely ignored him and continued to read the letter.

_…Enough idle talk though. I have something to really tell you. _

_Do you remember the mage I was once partnered with, Trevis Yuehn? You know the one with green eyes with a chillingly quiet disposition? I met him again recently, and what he told me was just outrageous…_

"Er, 'outrageous'?" Franzes repeated curiously. "What could that be? A sudden marriage proposal?"

"Now that's ridiculous."

Fiel gave a sharp 'ouch' as Franzes yanked his hair.

…_I suppose the authorities have heard about this, so it doesn't really matter if I tell some people. Geffen is a planning a revolt to liberate itself from Pronteran rule. I know that at first it sounds foolish of them, but from what Trevis had told me, the leaders of the revolt have a pretty good plan already…_

The brown-haired blacksmith blinked as she read that part of the letter again. _A Geffenian revolt? That's new! _Geffen was not hostile to Prontera's rule and policies for the past years…why now? It would be readily believable if it was Payon or Morocc – those cities have a history of resentment against Prontera – but Geffen? What could their wizards do? The city doesn't command a sizable army, and magic users aren't exactly fit for the frontlines.

"If these people do really want to create some hell, then they should have a pretty effective plan," Franzes remarked, knitting her eyebrows. "But then, Geffen's wizards are among the best ones. If they could cast fast things on the knights, they could stand a chance."

"I still don't count on that one," Fiel said thoughtfully. "Remember, we have priest divisions. Wizards could heal, but not as good as we do. Once the knights close in, they are as good as dead, and I haven't seen a wizard in plate armor."

"Good point."

…_I don't know what could happen. This wasn't exactly like decades ago, when the Pronteran army marched up to Geffen and in a few words made them surrender. The army had an overwhelming edge against the wizards – the best armor and weapons, made especially for them by the Arvelaine clan…_

"Please, not another Arvelaine historical reference again," Franzes groaned. "It makes me feel that the present Arvelaines are moronic money-orientated idiots."

"Oh, that's harsh." Fiel said as he glanced at the blacksmith's revolted expression. Franzes always refers her relatives as 'money-orientated idiots' – which is quite true.

"_The Arvelaine clan had always forged for Prontera! They had forged the best armors and weapons for a reasonable price! Now what? Those fools have been blinded by money! Worse than that, their wares have become substandard! I could easily dent their tin cans with a knife!"_

'But that affair is not even half of her anger towards her own family,' Fiel knows something deeper that causes her to hate Cire Arvelaine so much. 'And they call her the 'heretic'…she alone possesses the true Arvelaine talent and spirit…'

_…A military expedition would certainly come sooner or later. Frankly, I don't know what to feel about it. Come back here immediately. I'm rotting in here, having received a one-week vacation. I know it's a bit unbelievable, but the Grand Knight Commander told me to have a vacation or else he's going to relegate me. Scary. But more alarming than the Grand Knight Commander's threat was that Zachriel is becoming a bit too insistent lately. You know I hate it when he comes barging into my mind day and night._

"Zach's back?" Fiel commented, slightly surprised. "I thought he was in hibernation mode."

"That guy's as predictable as the weather. Tomorrow he'll be quiet and yesterday he was so awful you were dying to kill him. You know what? I'm really astounded that Angela could cope with that guy."

"She could only cope with Zach. What could she do?"

_…I hope you two are doing well and are making it out…_

"Now, what does she mean by that?" Franzes said, frowning greatly.

"Don't ask me."

_…Rai and Eleris would be coming back soon, if I were to believe them. That leaves you and Fiel. I know that the two of you are spending quality time together, thanks to the ever-so-cooperative Khallian and Rived, but I'm having a nervous breakdown here. Please pray for the peace of my soul._

"I don't know if I should take that as a joke or as something else," the priest said with an eyebrow raised. "Well, I certainly do pray for her."

"You make it sound like she's going to die soon," remarked Franzes, skipping the 'Your Friend with the Twisted Spear and in the Brink of Having a Twisted Mind, Angela Saxellian' and folding the paper neatly.

"Well, at least it wasn't 'pray for the eternal repose of my soul'," Fiel reasoned. He hopped from the bed to retrieve the envelope which Franzes unceremoniously tossed away earlier. "That certainly means something."

"Whatever. Let's go back tomorrow."

Fiel looked at her inquiringly as he picked the envelope on the carpeted floor.

"That soon?"

Franzes shrugged, wiggling her feet. "It sounds like Jelan needs someone. I don't want to go back to Prontera to stop an Angela the Impaler from a killing spree."

The priest straightened up and walked back to the bed, giving the envelope to Franzes.

"It couldn't be that bad." He certainly hopes so.

"I wish…"

Eloiris could hear her father's fuming voice booming from the room adjacent to hers. She pressed her ear on the ornate wooden door.

"I have said no and no it shall be! Halraence couldn't convice me in joining that!"

The next voice was somber and reedy, but obviously persistent.

"Sir Emiador Oranir, your family could be a great asset to our noble cause. The Oranir clan of Geffen had always produced noteworthy warriors that championed various goals. Surely, this one could be the greatest one of all exploits your clan had undertaken…"

The dancer smiled to herself. _Championed various goals? Exploits? Years ago, those could have been truths. While people inside this blasted chateau glorify the Oranir name, there are those who know better._

Emiador's voice became calmer as he spoke.

"I simply cannot allow my family to join such perilous revolt -"

"This is not perilous! The odds are in our favor. Of course, we would be playing on the fact that the Arvelaines are not here to forge the army's hide, which is already a big blow to them! With the sheer power of our mages and wizards, those knights do not stand a chance. We would be blowing them to pieces faster than they could crawl back to their priests. And when the ones in the front have fallen, those helpless priests are next. Today's generation of magic users is among the best ones I have ever seen – they could cast their spells faster and with more power…"

"That is one thing I could certainly praise about Mheian Halraence. Under him the Academy returned to its pristine state. The education system had certainly improved."

"Mheian is an insightful man. He knew that in the past decades the Academy had become inferior thanks to craven individuals who were given the honor to head such a prestigious institute of learning. The sages and wizards of Juno were certainly laughing at us then."

Eloiris remembered a certain event that happened years ago in Geffen – a story that was still told today through clenched teeth by citizens and wizards. A wizard of Geffen and a visiting sage of Juno were involved in an intense word fight. They argued that their respective city's magic users are more powerful than the other. The Geffenian reasoned that the sages of Juno were originally mages of Geffen and were instructed under the Academy. The sage debated that the Academy had taught them nothing more than the basics and that Juno had trained them in the finer points of magic. Soon they were blasting each other with their spells. Much to the horror of the Geffenians, the wizard was defeated and was forced to retract everything he said. For the citizens of the City of Magic, it was the worst humiliation they had ever received, even more badly than being subjugated by the swords and spears of the Pronteran knights.

_Proud idiots. They take pride in their magic, but not in their independence._

"But that was then, Lord Oranir! Our wizards could easily defeat those blubbering inanes of Juno, and with the help of your excellent warriors and own personal army, we could lead Geffen to its own glorious era! Magic is more sublime than swords and spears!"

The dancer silently snickered to herself. _Tell that to an Arvelaine and I assure you their whole clan of blacksmiths and alchemists would wipe this city nonexistent before you could apologize._

There was silence for a moment. The shadows inside the rich chateau of the Oranir family grew longer as the dying sun vanished to a brilliant vermillion in the western horizon.

"I still say no."

Her father's answer did not mystify Eloiris. He may be saying that it was dangerous and unsure, but Eloiris knows the real reason why he doesn't want anyone in the Oranir clan to participate.

_The Oranirs are not that lofty anymore._

"Dad is really an old buffoon."

Eloiris smirked at the comment. The still shadows began to move behind her, slowly stirring into a presence.

"How long you've been there?"

She turned around to see a female assassin reclining on her bed, twirling a knife between her fingers. She looked almost the same as Eloiris, except for the hair and eyes.

"Um…early afternoon? I just thought of visiting home."

Eloiris batted her eyelids at the response. "Visiting home? What hit you?"

Eliaris was thoughtful for a moment. The knife between her fingers slowly pirouetted, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun. "Nothing. I just feel like it. As a freelance assassin, I don't get too much work."

The knife slowly became still. The red-tinted figure of the Geffen Tower, the structure visible outside all the windows in Geffen, was mirrored on its blade. The vermillion tint of the city gradually faded into darkness.

"How do the clients react when they know that they're hiring an Oranir assassin?"

A knife flew past her head and embedded itself on the door behind her. The blade reflected the nonchalance in her soft viridian eyes. Eliaris sat upright from her comfortable recline and smiled amusedly at her sister. _She never changed. Just like Dad. He never changed. That's why I don't like it here._

"I don't know," the brown-haired assassin replied lazily. "I don't let them know. It doesn't matter what your surname is in assassination anyway, except when you're the victim."

"Oh." Eloiris said softly in mock surprise. "And I always thought you're taking pride of being an Oranir."

"I do. You don't need to shout it out to the whole world. They have their own way to know," Eliaris was playing with another knife. "Anyway…Dad's trying to worm the Oranir name out of this revolt without being called a coward."

"It's obvious," Eloiris agreed with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the door. "Truth is, he's itching to pitch every single Oranir into that stupid insurgency, but he knows the true status of the Oranirs right now. We're not that…_great_ anymore."

"Of course we are. The thing is we are like wraith deads among the wraiths. For the common people, the Oranirs have maintained their glorious warrior heritage through the years. But we know we're not. We're facing the same…_crisis _as the Arvelaines."

Eloiris shrugged. "That's why Dad wanted us to become 'great warriors', as he calls it."

"Make that 'noble slaves'. He wants his pretty little daughters to salvage the family name."

The shadows had engulfed the room. The lampposts of Geffen flickered into life, illuminating the somber and empty streets. The cool evening breeze drifted through the open window.

"And I say…we did a pretty bad job at it."

_"Meet me again, okay? I'll be waiting for you – same time, same place. I'll be staying here in Prontera for quite some time anyway."_

Angela knew she has to apologize to Trevis.

'What can I do? Zach was persistent the past two days, and my headaches were getting worse. I can't possibly go outside my house without considering the fact that I could end up being 'Angela the Impaler'.'

_Ah well, it could provide a bit more life into your otherwise monotonous week._

The knight tried hard not to roll her eyes. It would certainly look absurd in the crowded sidewalks of Prontera. She did nothing the past two days but to lie in bed and engage in ridiculously long and pointless mental talks with Zachriel. The only thing she did other than that was to eat and go to the bathroom when needed. She was thankful that the headaches receded this morning, or else she has to spend another day with Zach, which could finally end with her either going insane or violent.

_Sorry Zach, but I don't like it to be blood red. Won't you give me some peace already? You're the only soul I've been talking to for the past two days! But I have to thank you for the less bother today._

The familiar bar loomed into view, beyond the brisk stream of people passing it. The familiar throbbing of her head slowly returned.

_Not again. Zachriel, could you please give me a break?_

She isn't so sure of going inside anymore. She could enter the bar as a sane knight, and left it an insane one.

'But I'm here now. I might just as well continue inside. I pray.'

_I'm quite curious about the happenings here in Midgard anyway. I might as well give you a short break as you talk with your old friend, as you call him._

Angela grasped the doorknob as she mentally replied with her constant companion.

_And what do you mean by that?_

She perfectly knows what Zachriel is 'pointing' at though.

_You know what, Angela? Women of your age already have boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. I wonder why you don't have one. You're not exactly…revolting, right?_

Angela's eyes widened at the statement and nearly crushed the doorknob as she turned it.

_Excuse me, Zachriel Saxellian! It's not that I'm bragging or something, but I know how I look like! I may not be as beautiful as the First Knight Commander Zelzah Oriphel, but I still look human!_

She almost slammed the door shut, but she regained control of her temper. It's not right to become angry for apparently no reason. It took some moments before Zachriel responded. He doesn't sounded 'sneering' anymore though – meeker, actually.

_I was just…joking. Of course, you're not repulsive. In fact, you remind me of someone…_

Angela surveyed the bar closely. It was half-full and alive with the energetic conversations of its patrons. A few knights who recognized her waved cheerfully at the commander. She waved back, trying to hide her obvious discomfort due to Zachriel.

_And who would that be?_

Zachriel did not answer for a long time. Angela didn't nag him for answers. It might start another long confab with him and put her to bed rest for three days – something that she definitely doesn't look forward to.

'Where could Trevis be?' she thought, a bit anxious. She scanned the bar again for any signs of him, but not one of them has the messy brown hair and green-eyed combo. 'Maybe he got annoyed at me for my nonappearance.' Her excuse was that she fell sick, which is quite a lame excuse even for her, but she couldn't think of anything else. She just couldn't tell him the truth.

Sitting on the same seat she had by the counter two days ago, she hoped that Trevis would appear. He was her only companion with the absence of her usual circle of friends. She motioned for the bartender. She could hear the knights seated on the tables whispering as she did so.

'Well…this is the first time they saw me in a bar.' Her reputation in the Army was that of a saint. 'But then, there's nothing preventing me from ordering some light drink. I don't drink barrels, anyway.'

To Angela's surprise, the bartender recognized her.

"Lady Knight, aren't you the one with the green-eyed wizard two days ago?"

Angela blinked but nodded. "That would be me, yes."

The bartender quickly handed to her a sealed envelope.

"That wizard frequented this place and asked me to give this to you when you finally appear. I think he got tired from waiting for you. I got moved though – he looked really troubled and sad. It won't hurt to help." His expression was that of an overzealous Good Samaritan. "Anyway, what would be your order?"

"Holy Water," Angela said hazily, gazing at the envelope. The bartender left to fetch her order, but not after giving her a quizzical look.

'A letter? What could this mean?' Did he just give up on meeting with her? But why leave a letter?

Giving a furtive look around to ensure no one would be reading the letter with her she carefully ripped the envelope's side and extracted the neatly folded paper inside. She identified the handwriting as Trevis' – she had seen his script from an earlier letter, when they parted ways during their younger days.

_To Angela Verchiel Saxellian_

_Although I truly do not know the reason behind your absence, I assure you that I am not angry with it. I understand that as a Knight Commander you have heavy responsibilities that surely are more important than meeting an acquaintance._

_I must thank you for spending time with me, even for just a brief time. You know me – I am not as friendly as other people, and finding company is a difficult job for me. You've been a big help to me, Angela. It made me remember the times when we're still together, although now it isn't as carefree as before._

_Angela, there was something I didn't told you two days ago. I supposed the news of the revolt took most of your attention. My father, Zenin Yuehn, sent me here to Prontera because he fears that I would become involved with the insurrection. The day after we met, I received the message that the leaders of the revolt really do want me. They want my participation. If I don't come back to Geffen immediately, then my family would be killed. My family means so much to me. Believe me, Angela; I do not want to be part of it. But there's nothing I can do. It's either I hide here in the capital and let my family die or join the rebels and end my loyalties with Prontera to save my family._

_The next time we would meet might be in the battlefield. __Angela, if I ever die in this, please make sure my family is safe. I wouldn't mind if you're the one who would kill me – it would be fine for me if your spear would pierce my chest. I would consider it as a sweet death…_

_Your sincere friend,_

_Trevis Yuehn_

Angela could not believe it.

_'Believe me, Angela; I do not want to be part of it.'_

'He returned home…he would be one with the rebels…'

_'I wouldn't mind if you're the one who would kill me…'_

'No…not another…not another death…'

_'It would be fine for me if your spear would pierce my chest…'_

_Too bad, Angela Saxellian…another loved one must fall…_

_'I would consider it as a sweet death…'_

_And he shall fall by your spear…_

Moments later, an angered scream was heard.

"And that darn lady made me fetch some wine, only to run

away! Don't tell me she's a knight!"

The other knights looked among themselves.

"Well, mister bartender, if you have something against that knight, we suggest you keep it to yourself," said one with the look of concern. "She's the Second Knight Commander, and she looks really upset."

"Damn who cares even if she's the First Knight Commander! I would still send her flying!"

"Damn who cares if I'm the First Knight Commander?"

The rest of the knights swiftly looked at the direction of the voice.

"First Knight Commander Zelzah Oriphel!"

They immediately jumped to their feet and gave a respectful salute. The female knight by the door glared darkly at the bartender. Her long and splendid wine-colored hair simply draped down her back. Her ordinarily reserved dark brown eyes were visibly incensed. The other knights knew this would result to something really violent. Commander Iriathrina Zelzah Oriphel could be cool and collected most of the time, but everyone in the army knows what happens when she finally gets mad. It is something definitely not pleasant.

"Do you have anything against me, bartender? Do you consider settling it?" she coolly strode towards him, a hand grasping the hilt of a claymore. The knights were discussing the fact that she looks edgier than usual. Lady Zelzah Oriphel wouldn't easily get angry at such remarks. They kept it quiet though – nobody wants to get impaired next.

The daring displayed by the bartender earlier completely vanished. The earlier female knight looked docile and peaceable. This one, although irrefutably a looker, looks more than ready to kill. The knight commander's eyes were blazing with quiet fury. It almost looked unnatural.

"I-I…of course not! T-there's nothing I-I have a-against y-you!" he explained shakily. "I-it's about the female k-knight earlier!"

Iriathrina stopped at the edge of the counter, face to face with the bartender. The knights nervously mused that nothing and no one – not even the Grand Knight Commander – could possibly stop the bloodshed that is about to occur.

"Who gave you the permission to disparage my position?" she whispered in an inimical tone. "Don't you realize that such brazen attitudes could send you to your grave a little ahead of time?" Everyone gasped at the sound of a sword unsheathing…

"Next time buddy, don't do improper things around the knight commander."

The group of knights left the bar dragging a male thief by the arms. Although thieves are known to resist any form of authority – especially Pronteran authority – this one was evidently meek and submissive.

"You're lucky she didn't slice your neck like butter."

They gave a furtive glance at the knight commander ahead of them. They could still remember all the details. Just as when they thought she was about to dice the bartender, she pointed her claymore at someone behind him.

"_You're quite good for a thief. Nobody noticed you're there. Now return those two Aldebaran whiskey and Moroccan wine bottles."_

Needless to say, the thief was readily surrounded by the knights and was hauled off. It turns out that he seized the chance when the bartender was too petrified with Iriathrina's presence to take notice. The thing is it was Iriathrina who noticed him.

"Seems like Commander Zelzah Oriphel's glares are effective for disabling people with 'brazen attitudes'…"

"You could say that, Sir Celsior."

The knights almost jumped when it was Iriathrina who replied.

"Don't worry, I'm not mad."

_At least not now…_

She was just in a chaotic state earlier, and she thought that a quick drink would somehow clear her mind. It turns out it didn't.

She still couldn't believe what that letter had said to her.

_Is he really serious with his plans…?_

_Since I'm rushing things…I didn't had the time to update the author's notes in the previous chapters. Sorry about that…_

_If there's a typo or something, please tell me! I know they abound in Shards._

_To all St. John Macias (St. Jhon de Matthias 04-05, SFNPS) – You guys are the best. I won't forget you all. Although we're originally 46 and were later shaved down to 44, we're still special, although not all for positive reasons. We won't have the rowdiest of the bunch next year…well, I'm still glad we all met._

_This fic is for you, guys!_

_Chao! AiZhen_


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